


Liberating Males

by Luzita



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Rape/non-con is referenced but not explicitly described, Romance, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-19
Updated: 2007-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 124,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzita/pseuds/Luzita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Daniel are enslaved by a matriarchal society, but Sam has amnesia and believes she is part of the society.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invisible People

Daniel was gazing at whiteness.  His consciousness floated lazily up into the… whiteness.  He felt no hurry, no particular curiosity about anything.  It was all rather soothing.

Then a face intruded into the soothing whiteness, looking down on him with a vexed expression.  The face had angular features, a grim mouth, and snapping dark eyes.  “Daniel,” it said, the voice soft yet commanding, “are you finally coming around?”

“Uh…” said Daniel.  He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and blinked rapidly.  He realized he was lying on a bed, looking up into Jack’s face.

Daniel sat up.  Then he tried to stand up, but things started spinning so he gave up on that.

“Take it easy,” said Jack, putting a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re probably feeling a little woozy.  I know I did.  Give it a minute.”

Jack was right.  After a moment, Daniel felt his thought processes gearing up again.  He looked around and discovered they were in a small room with white walls, white floor, white ceiling.  He was sitting on a metal bunk of minimalist design.  Next to it was another bunk of identical design.  The corners of the room held a couple of metal fixtures.  And that was it.

“What happened?” he asked.  “Where are we?”

“What does it look like, Daniel?  We’re in some kind of prison cell.”

Daniel made another attempt to stand up.  This time there was only a small amount of dizziness, which passed rapidly, but he realized his brain was still foggy.  Because it was only now registering that Jack was out of uniform.  Jack was wearing comfortable-looking black shoes, a small black loin-cloth, and a black collar made of a number of rectangles linked by double cords.

Daniel looked down at himself and realized he was dressed identically.  Or undressed identically – the loin-cloth was pretty skimpy.  It consisted only of two panels of cloth hanging down from a broad belt, so that his groin and butt where covered but his sides were bare up to the waist.  His hands went quickly to his neck and found that, yes, he too was wearing a collar.  He pulled and felt the collar, finding that the cords had a small amount of elasticity which caused the rectangles to lie snugly against his skin.  The rectangles had an unusual feel to them – not metal, not wood, not obviously plastic.  Maybe some sort of composite.  As he felt all the way around the collar, he noticed that…

“There’s no fastening,” said Jack.  “Not that I can find, anyway.  And there’s something weird about the last rectangle.  The one at the back of the neck.  It doesn’t move.  It’s like it’s glued to the skin or something.”

Daniel tugged at his collar experimentally and confirmed Jack’s statement.  “That seems rather ominous.”

“Ya think?”  Jack had begun to pace back and forth across the width of their small cell like a caged tiger.

“We were attacked!” cried Daniel, agitated by the images suddenly rushing into his mind.  “It just came back to me…”

“Yeah,” said Jack.

“Where’s Teal’c?” exclaimed Daniel.

“I don’t know.  I ordered him to try to get back to the ‘Gate.  I’m hoping he got away.”

“Did you ever see them?  The people who attacked us?  Because I certainly didn’t.  And the Atrosians spoke of ‘invisible demons.’”

“Right,” said Jack.  “Like the Atrosians have any business calling anybody else ‘demons.’  But I think whoever attacked us really _was_ invisible.”

“The Atrosians _are_ a pretty nasty culture,” agreed Daniel.  “Can’t say slave-traders are ever my favorite.”

“Mine either,” said Jack.  “And it looks like the pot was calling the kettle black,” he added, pulling significantly at his collar.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Daniel.  “If these people thought we were with the Atrosians, this may all be a big misunderstanding.”

Jack gave him a disgusted look, which Daniel ignored.  He moved to one of the metal fixtures and began examining it.

“That’s a drinking fountain,” said Jack.  “And the thing in the other corner – that’s the john.”

“These fixtures seem pretty high-tech,” said Daniel.

“I’m more concerned about the lack of fixtures.  Like – no doors, no windows.  I’ve checked the walls and floor and I can’t find any sign of an exit.”

“These collars seem pretty high-tech too,” said Daniel, as if Jack hadn’t spoken.  “And,” he added, fingering his loin-cloth, “this cloth feels like some kind of sophisticated synthetic.”

“What are you trying to say, Daniel?  That since these people are high-tech, they must be nice?”

“Noooo.”  Daniel drew out the word in a sarcastic, nasal fashion – but then noticed something that made him forget the conversation.  He didn’t know how he’d missed it till now, except that his brain must still have been fuzzy.  “Jack, do you think you could hold still for a millisecond or two?”

“Whyyyy?” asked Jack.

“Because there are symbols on the front of your collar, and I’m trying to figure out why they seem so familiar.”

Jack stopped pacing, allowing Daniel to stand close and peer intently at the characters imprinted in white on his collar.  Though the shapes must have changed over time, Daniel soon felt he had identified their origins.  This was exciting!  Especially since the People of Light and Dark had adopted a script based on the Goa’uld’s.

“ _Well?_ ” said Jack.

Only then did Daniel notice Jack’s impatient glower.  “Well,” responded Daniel, “this is really fascinating.  These symbols seem to be related to the Minoan Linear A script.”

“Yeah?  Can you read them?”

“Minoan Linear A has never been deciphered, so no.  But it does give us a clue as to the cultural roots of our captors’ society.  And,” Daniel continued, his words growing more animated, “just think!  Contact with this society may be the Rosetta Stone that will allow us to finally decipher Linear A!”

“Just think,” said Jack, his tone dry as the Sahara.

“Okay,” said Daniel, “I realize that may not be our highest priority at the moment.  But if this society _is_ descended from the Minoan, I’d say that bodes well for us.  The Minoans were quite peaceful, for a Bronze Age culture.”  Daniel’s brows drew together.  “On the other hand, that was thousands of years ago.  There’s no telling how a society might evolve over such a long period of time.”

“In other words,” said Jack, “these symbols tell us squat.”

“I’m not sure I’d say _that_.”

Jack turned away from Daniel with controlled exasperation and began looking around the room, up at the corners near the ceiling, then at the wall across from the beds.  “Hey!” he called.  “Invisible people!  Look, we’ve got no quarrel with you.  We’re not Atrosians.  We’ve got nothing to do with the Atrosians.  We were just searching for a friend of ours.  So if you’ll just let us out of this cell – and take off these collars – we’ll be on our way.”

“We’re peaceful explorers,” put in Daniel, “from the planet Earth.  We’d really appreciate the chance to communicate with you.”

They fell silent, waiting.  There was no response.

“I’m not sure anybody’s listening, Jack.  I don’t see anything that looks like it could be a camera.”

“Oh, they’re listening.  And watching.  I can feel it,” said Jack, glaring at the wall.

*****

On the other side of the wall – which was really an observation panel, completely transparent from that side – Jamora felt riveted by his dark, intense gaze.  Jamora had the strangest sense that he was deliberately staring _at_ _her in particular_.  Which was absurd.  He could have no idea she was there.

Jamora was one of four women who sat at a long table facing the transparent (from their side) observation panel.  The women had an unimpeded view of the males in the holding cell.  In fact, the observation panel was so transparent it didn’t seem to be there at all, which gave Jamora an odd feeling.  It was as though the males were in the same room, yet they were completely unaware of the women’s existence.

“I believe we’re ready to discuss our findings,” said Esestia.  “Now that we’ve had an opportunity to observe the natural behavior of _both_ males.”  Esestia was the evaluation team’s facilitator.  She was the oldest of the four women, and the most experienced at evaluating Unredeemed males.

“I’m sorry,” said Ifefal, looking embarrassed.  “The older male shouldn’t have awakened so much sooner than the younger.  I was sure I had those doses calibrated properly.”

Esestia placed a reassuring hand on the young woman’s arm.  “Think nothing of it, dear sister.  You’re still new at this.  And wild males are full of surprises – usually unpleasant!  Believe me, even after working as an evaluator for forty years, they still give _me_ a start sometimes!  Let’s just get on with the evaluation.  And why don’t we start with your findings, Ifefal?”

“Of course, Esestia,” said Ifefal.  But she called up a holographic display and scrolled through her notes rather nervously for a moment.  Ifefal was the evaluation team’s medical specialist and youngest member.  “Both males are healthy and strong,” she said.  “The younger one is in his mid-thirties.  The older is about fifty, but still quite vigorous.  As we’ve seen,” she added ruefully.  “They responded normally to all the anesthetics, allowing a full physical and psychological examination to take place while they were either unconscious or in a twilight state.  And their Collar implantations went smoothly – no complications.  All the Collar functions were successfully tested while the males were under twilight anesthesia.  And… well, there’s not much else to tell.  They’re just, you know, males.”  Ifefal giggled and smiled nervously, looking toward Esestia.

Esestia smiled back reassuringly and said, “Thank you, Ifefal.”

Jamora winced inwardly as she watched their interaction.  Ifefal managed to give the impression of not being very bright, though Jamora knew that had to be a false impression.  She couldn’t have gotten through medical school if she were stupid.  But she seemed remarkably unsure of herself, even for such a young woman, and depended on Esestia’s approval a great deal.  Which made Jamora feel bad for her, since she’d noticed Esestia seemed to build Ifefal up only to knock her down again.

“Jamora,” said Esestia, “perhaps we should hear from you next.  Nice to have you with us again, by the way.”

“Thank you, Esestia.”  Jamora was the technologist, and therefore not a regular member of the evaluation team.  Her specialty was required only if the captured males possessed technology that was both unfamiliar and complex enough to merit study.  Since males were normally Liberated from low-tech, non-Goa’uld worlds, this was rarely the case.  Jamora had signed up to consult for the Bureau of Liberation three months previously, yet this was only the second time she had been called upon.

“The males carried radio communications equipment that I would classify as of a Phase IV developmental level…” Jamora began.  She went on to briskly summarize their other electronic devices, the design and number of their projectile weapons, the level of industrial development suggested by their clothes, etc.  “In short, I’d say these males came from a non-Goa’uld world at a Phase IV technological level.  Their clothes and equipment suggest they were members of some sort of military organization, probably with a mission to both explore and fight.”

“Thank you for that excellent briefing, Jamora,” said Esestia.  “But I’m sorry they called you in just for Phase IV technology!”

“Oh, no, don’t be,” said Jamora.  “I thought it was fun!  The design of the projectile weapons was quite interesting, for something relatively low-tech.  I suspect that in a firefight they’d be more effective than Goa’uld staff weapons, in many respects.”

“Oh,” said Esestia dryly, “I can believe that.  I’m certain these males’ _weapons_ represent the height of their achievements.  But is there anything about their technology that impacts their compatibility with Ashoran society?  Or merits further investigation?”

Jamora shook her head.  “Not really.”

Esestia nodded, thanked Jamora again, and turned to the fourth member of the team.  “Ashasti,” she said, “won’t you be kind enough to fill us in on these males’ genetic qualifications?”  Was it Jamora’s imagination, or was there something a bit cool in Esestia’s manner toward Ashasti?

“Both males’ genetic profiles are quite good,” said Ashasti, “and would make beneficial additions to our gene pool.  In particular, the older male has the Ancient gene!  And…”

As Ashasti went on, getting into some rather technical details regarding alleles and recessive traits, Jamora found her attention drifting back to the males on the other side of the wall.  Esestia had muted the audio from the holding cell when the team began its discussion, so Jamora could no longer hear what the males were saying.  Their conversation was being recorded, of course, but Jamora thought the observation period had been ridiculously brief.  It had been like that the last time, too.  She got the feeling Esestia was merely checking off the required box.

Jamora found that watching the males with the sound off made their body language all the more noticeable.  She could tell they were currently engaged in some sort of argument, which seemed to be par for the course.  Their relationship struck her as surprisingly complex.  The older male seemed to be the leader – yet the younger male didn’t really seem to be a follower.  Which was odd, since everyone knew that patriarchal societies were strictly hierarchical.

Her gaze was drawn to the older male – as it repeatedly had been since she’d first laid eyes on him.  His hair might be full of grey, but his body was trim and muscular.  And there was something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself, that Jamora found strangely attractive.  He had a kind of _presence_ that she couldn’t remember ever seeing in an Ashoran male.

“Thank you, Ashasti,” Esestia was saying.  “We’ll certainly take your findings into consideration.”  Jamora dragged her attention back to the team discussion, realizing that it was Esestia’s turn to speak.

“Well, sisters,” said Esestia, pursing her lips, “I’m afraid I must report major flaws in the psychological profiles of both these males.”

“ _Both_ the males?” said Ashasti.  “Even the younger one?”

Esestia gave her a condescending smile.  “The younger male may give the _initial_ _impression_ of being peaceable and mild,” said Esestia, “but his psychological profile reveals a _very strong_ streak of willfulness and submerged aggression.  I would rate his Redeemability as borderline at best.  However, with the help of the Goddess – great are Her blessings – he _might_ be salvaged.  _Might_.  Out of respect for the Goddess’s divine mercy, I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s nice, Esestia,” said Ashasti.  “Because I hereby Claim him.”

Esestia’s mouth dropped open.  “You do?” she said.  She seemed astonished.  Ifefal also seemed very surprised.

“I do,” said Ashasti, her voice cool.  “I find him quite attractive.”

Jamora got the definite feeling there was a subtext to the way these women were reacting to Ashasti’s Claim – and the way Ashasti was pressing it.  But since she didn’t know them very well, she wasn’t sure what was really going on.

“That’s great!” said Ifefal, going from surprised to bubbly.  “Good for you!  He _is_ pretty cute, isn’t he?”  But Ifefal’s energy faded away when Esestia gave her a quelling look.

“If you want to Claim this male,” said Esestia to Ashasti, “that’s your Goddess-given right, of course.  But I hope you’re prepared for what you’re getting.  His psychological profile indicates he’ll be trouble.”

“Oh,” said Ashasti, her voice still cool, “I hope so.  I prefer spirited males.  And I’ve never found it necessary to _use the Collar repeatedly_ to keep them in line.”

Esestia gave a brittle smile.  “I suppose that’s settled, then.”  Her voice took on an official timber as she intoned, “Let the record show that Liberated Male Number… uh… 203-1435-239920… has been formally Claimed by Ashasti Daughter-of-Levash.”

She called up a data display and scrolled through it importantly.  “Now for the real problem – the older male.”  Esestia sighed and shook her head.  She jerked her chin toward the observation panel and said, “That creature out there has the highest Aggression Index I’ve ever seen.  Ever.  In my forty years as an evaluator.  And that’s only the first of a whole series of alarming traits.  His profile is full of strange contradictions that suggest unpredictability, deceit, and low cunning.  This is an Unredeemable male of the most slippery and dangerous sort.  His case is hopeless.”  Esestia’s voice once again took on a formal timber as she said, “Let the record show that I, Esestia Daughter-of-Ush, Senior Member and Psychological Specialist of Evaluation Team Fifteen, recommend that Liberated Male Number… 203-1435-239921… be given over to Euthanasia House to be put down.”

Jamora felt her stomach do a strange sort of flip.  “ _Put down?_   But I thought that was only done in extreme cases.”

“Believe me, Jamora,” said Esestia, her tone portentous, “this _is_ an extreme case.  This is the sort of male who’s good only at killing and destroying.  So we certainly don’t want him in Ashoran society.  But, for the same reason, we can’t just let him loose on the galaxy again, can we?  Our oppressed sisters out there have enough to worry about.  Our only real option is to euthanize him.”

Jamora looked back at the holding cell, where the “creature” in question was once again pacing back and forth in front of the observation panel – close enough for Jamora to have leaned over and touched him, had the wall not been there.  Close enough to really appreciate the muscular strength of his arms and chest, the long line of his legs and hips, the coiled energy of his stride.  Jamora found him beautiful.  And yet, wasn’t there also something forbidding in his expression?  Wasn’t there something about him that radiated a kind of menace?

_What am I feeling?_ thought Jamora.  The situation had taken on a surreal quality for her.  She felt curiously unanchored, much as she’d felt in the hospital all those months ago.

“You know,” put in Ifefal, “I should have mentioned that the older male’s body is covered with scars.  He has many healed injuries that seem the result of deliberate aggression.  It’s obvious he’s lived a life of great violence.”

Esestia smiled at her and nodded.  “Let the record show,” she said, “that the medical evidence supports the psychological evidence.”

“I’m sorry,” said Jamora.  “I’m not familiar with the procedure here.  Are we supposed to evaluate your recommendation?”

“Not at all, Jamora.  It’s much simpler than that.  My recommendation will stand unless someone offers a solid reason why it should not.”  Esestia smiled.  “And of course, we know from your excellent briefing that this male was armed and equipped as a professional fighter of some sort.  So the technological evidence also supports the psychological evidence.”

Jamora opened her mouth to protest… and then closed it.  That _was_ what she had concluded.

“I would like to repeat,” said Ashasti, “that this male’s genetic profile is quite extraordinary.  The Ancient gene is very rare.”

“Thank you, Ashasti,” said Esestia, a bit smugly.  “Let the record show that this male’s sperm should be collected for the Bank prior to his termination.”

Ashasti’s jaw set.  “I really feel it would be to the benefit of Ashoran society to spare him.”

“Oh come now, sister, what reason is there to do that?  It’s not as if we’d want this male actually _rearing_ Ashoran children!”

“Esestia,” said Ashasti, locking eyes with her, “this is the fifth time this month you’ve recommended that a male be put down.”

“Is it?” said Esestia.  “Well I’m sure that’s true, if you say so.  It’s not as if I’m keeping count.  I’m simply doing my job by making the most appropriate recommendation for each case.”

“Esestia, _please_ ,” said Ashasti, her tone growing fervent.  “In the name of the Goddess, to whom all life is sacred!  I implore you to reconsider!”

“That’s enough!” said Esestia, her voice rising.  “As if _you_ have any business lecturing _me_ about the Goddess!  I thought this whole issue had been resolved when the Board rejected your protest, but obviously you think you know better than the Board as well as knowing better than _me_!  Even though I’ve been doing this for forty years!”

Esestia opened her mouth to continue, her face red, but her glance fell on Jamora and she visibly reined in her anger.  “I really don’t think this is the time or place for this discussion,” she said.  “This is a matter for the Board.”

“You’re right, Esestia.  About _that_ ,” said Ashasti.  But her tone was weary.  She gave Jamora a sad smile.  “I’m sorry about all this, Jamora.  As I’m sure you’ve realized by now, this team has some long-standing issues.”

Jamora gave a small smile in response to Ashasti’s sincerity.  Then her gaze turned back to the holding cell.  The two males where now sitting on the bunks, facing each other.  The younger male was speaking, his face full of animation, while the older listened, his face revealing nothing but a certain intensity.  There was something about the way they leaned toward one another that suggested there was a strong bond there, despite all the friction.  A bond of true friendship.

“Yes,” Esestia was saying, “we have some _personnel_ issues that will have to be referred to the Board.  At a later time.  Right now, we have an evaluation to finish.  And since no one has raised any _substantive_ objections to my recommendation, let the record show that… ”

“Wait,” said Jamora, turning back toward the other women.  “I Claim him.”

Esestia froze, her mouth open.  Then her brows drew down in perplexity.  “Claim _him_?  The older male?  But, Jamora … as I’ve explained, he’s Unredeemable!  We’re going to put him down.”

“No, you’re not,” said Jamora, her voice calm.  “According to the Law of Ashora, a First Claim takes precedence over any other proposal for the disposition of a Liberated male.  And this _is_ my First Claim.  I have no other concubines, and my husband isn’t allowed to father children due to a Prohibited Genetic Trait.”

Ashasti’s face lit up.  “That’s right!” she said.  “That _is_ the Law.”

“But… my dear Jamora!” said Esestia, still looking stunned.  “We _will_ be harvesting sperm from this male, remember?  You could just…”

“I could,” broke in Jamora, “but I choose not to.  I choose to exercise my Goddess-given right to Claim this male as my chattel-concubine.”

Esestia’s face went from stunned to appalled.  Ifefal’s face puckered up with woeful astonishment, like a child disappointed by her present.  Ashasti looked pleased but surprised.

“You’re mad!” cried Esestia.  “This male is _vicious_.  You can’t possibly want to bring him into your home!  Especially not when…”

Esestia clamped her mouth shut, and Jamora felt blood rush into her face.  What had Esestia been about to say?  Was it possible she _knew_?  The medical records were sealed, but perhaps Esestia had contacts among the psychologists at the hospital.  Jamora felt her back stiffen.  She hated the idea of being an object of pity to anyone, but the thought that _this_ woman might know something about her painful past was especially unwelcome.

“But,” put in Ifefal, “he’s so _old_.”

Everyone looked blankly at Ifefal for a moment.

Then Esestia turned back to Jamora and said, more calmly, “Of course we all recognize your right to make a Claim, Jamora.”  Her face had taken on a closed, suspicious look.  “It’s your _sacred_ right, which is _not_ to be used just to grab a chattel-male as a worker, or for casual pleasure, or for some … other reason.  Women have been prosecuted for making Claims on false pretenses, you know.”

“I know what a Claim is,” said Jamora.  Her tone was matter-of-fact.

Esestia grew rigid.  “I will _not_ take responsibility for allowing this male into our society!”

“You don’t have to, Esestia.  I’ve Claimed him.  He’s my responsibility now.  The Bureau no longer has jurisdiction over him.”

There was a tense silence.

Then Ashasti smiled and said, “Let the record show that Liberated Male Number … umm … 203-1435-239921 … has been formally Claimed by Jamora Daughter-of-Reshesa.”


	2. Where There's Smoke

Jamora stood and gazed down at her new male concubine, who was lying unconscious on a settee in her bedroom.  She let her eyes roam down his muscular form once again.  His lovely nakedness was interrupted only by the small black loin-cloth that was standard issue for chattel-males.  Jamora felt tempted to stroke his hair and run her fingers down his chest and stomach, but she resisted the impulse.  When she touched him for the first time, she wanted to be able to see the look in his eyes.

The Bureau of Liberation had delivered him in an unconscious state.  It simplified things.  At Jamora’s request, the woman from the Bureau had directed her chattel-male workers to carry the grey-haired male into Jamora’s house and lay him gently on his back on the settee.  The official from the Bureau had gotten Jamora’s signature and brainwave scan on several legal documents.  Then she had finalized the transfer by attaching and activating the Registry Pendant that now hung from the front of the grey-haired male’s Collar.  The Pendant was red – indicating his status as a chattel-concubine – and was inscribed with Jamora’s name in gold characters.  But it was the electronic coding _within_ the Pendant that truly identified Jamora as his Keeper.

Looking down and seeing her Pendant on this male made Jamora’s gut flutter with… excitement.  _Not_ nervousness.  What was there to be nervous about?  He was just a male.  _Her_ male.  _Smoke._   She had decided to name him Smoke.  For his grey hair, but also for a phrase that had drifted up to her from somewhere:  “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Jamora sighed as she studied his handsome, craggy face, which projected strength and authority even while he slept.  For a moment, she wondered if she should have taken Esestia’s advice and sent Smoke to Orientation House for his initial training.  After all, Orientation House was staffed by experienced professionals.  But somehow, the thought of other women getting their hands on Smoke was… unwelcome.

She walked across the room and sat on her bed.  It really was time to wake him.  Why was she hesitating?  He was Collared, so he couldn’t hurt her.  She had given herself a crash course on what to do, drawing on the Library for instructions on how to break in wild males.  She could handle him!  She was a Daughter of Ashora!

Jamora turned toward the little shrine that occupied a niche in one of her bedroom walls.  An ivory statuette of the Goddess Ashora stood there.  It depicted Her in Her Domestic Aspect, with snakes twined around her upraised arms.  Her staring eyes and graven smile looked out upon the world with unassailable stiffness.

_This is Her world_ , thought Jamora. _And this is_ my _home._   Jamora looked around her spacious bedroom, at the tradition-heavy decor that reflected her Foundationist sympathies.  The walls were covered with murals of marine life, depicted in the lively, playful style of the ancient homeland.  Dolphins leapt and fish swam among stylized waves.  Octopus with graceful tentacles hid among the sea anemones.  The theme of the murals was complemented by a large holographic “window” which took up half of one wall, giving the illusion of looking out onto an undersea reef full of colorful fish.

For her first real “meeting” with her new concubine, Jamora had chosen clothing that had a strongly traditional flavor as well.  She wore a bodice that supported her breasts but left them proudly exposed, along with an open, high-waisted jacket.  Her skirt was tiered in the traditional manner, but differed from the classic style in that it fell from her hips rather than her waist, leaving her midriff bare.  The outfit was peacock blue, with accents of gold and emerald green.  Her long, blond hair was arranged into a number of plaits bound with blue and green cords.

Jamora stood and gave a mental command that dimmed the overhead illumination to a soft level.  The coral reef “window” spilled an undulating azure glow into the bedroom, while the votive candles in the Goddess’s niche contributed a golden flicker.  Jamora was pleased with the effect.

Not that she planned on having sex with Smoke right away.  She intended to get better acquainted first.

Jamora returned her gaze to the mysterious male who lay on the other side of her bedroom.  Ignoring the butterflies that once again filled her stomach, she thought the command that would cause Smoke’s Collar to release him from unconsciousness.

He awoke immediately, sitting up with a start.  His nearly-nude body exuded masculine energy as he swung his legs around and scanned the room.  When his eyes fell on Jamora, he froze, and Jamora braced herself to deal with whatever protests and threats he was about to make.

To her astonishment, his face broke into a wide grin, and his dark eyes lit up with joy.  “ _Sam!_ ” he cried.  He stood and began walking toward her, his arms outstretched.

Alarmed by his strange behavior, Jamora held her hand up warningly.  “Stop!” she said.  “I haven’t given you permission to approach me.”

He stopped, his expression going from joy to confusion.  “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice soft.

“You’ve been Liberated by the Matriarchy of Ashora,” she said.  “You’ve entered a new world which you might find strange at first, but if you open your heart you will find you can be happy here.  You will find you can be happier than you’ve ever been before.”

Smoke was looking even more confused.  “Sam,” he said, “don’t you remember me?”

Jamora felt her whole world sway and tremble at his words.  What could he mean?  He couldn’t possibly know she had lost her memory.

“What are you talking about?” she said, feeling herself stiffen.  “My name is _Jamora_ Daughter-of-Reshesa.  And _your_ name is Smoke.”

His face took on an open-mouthed look of irritated bewilderment.  “My name is _Jack O’Neill._ ” he said.  “And _your_ name is…”  His sentence broke off in a gasp of agony as Jamora gave the command for Punishment.  He doubled over and fell to the floor with a choked cry.

Jamora winced.  She had given him the maximum pain stimulus.  She didn’t like doing that, but all the instruction manuals advised it.  Wild males needed a show of raw force to establish who was dominant.  It would save trouble later.

Besides, this male’s behavior was… disturbing.  She had to remember that his psych profile was full of danger signs.  Not that she had much confidence in Esestia’s _interpretation_ of his psych profile.  But a captured male’s profile was compiled by flashing a series of standard images while he was under twilight anesthesia and measuring his physiological responses.  So the traits Esestia had spoken of couldn’t have been entirely the product of her imagination.

When the pain stimulus cut off, he slowly rocked back on his heels and looked up at her.  The hurt disbelief in his eyes made her heart plummet in an unexpected manner, but she didn’t let it show.  Keeping her voice stern, she said, “Yes, _I_ did that.  And I can do it again whenever I feel it’s necessary.  And I can do other things, too.  Like this.”  She gave the Paralysis command, and he fell over on his side like a rag doll.

She walked to him and stood over his limp form.  Only his eyes moved.  “This is the way it’s going to be, Smoke,” she said.  “You have to get used to the fact that you no longer have the power to abuse women – or other males.  We don’t allow that here.  From now on, you take your orders from me.  I am your Keeper.  I have full access to all the functions of your Collar.  And as I’ve just demonstrated, that gives me direct access to several centers within your brain.  To activate the Collar’s functions, all I have to do is _think_ it.  The neural implants within my own brain will transmit the command to your Collar.

“And I’m not the only woman who can command your Collar.  Any Ashoran woman is authorized to control some of the functions.  So you’d better learn to treat _all_ women with respect.

“Furthermore, you need to understand that the Collar is a complex, intelligent device packed with automatic fail-safes.  Even if no woman is watching you, the Collar will be.  For example, if I’m asleep, and you’re within a certain radius, the Collar will keep you asleep as well.  So you can’t attack me while I’m unconscious.  As for removing or disabling the Collar, I strongly advise you not to even try.  The Punishment and Paralysis commands will be automatically triggered, and I will be alerted to your efforts.”

Jamora paused.  There was something about looking down at his motionless, helpless body that made her feel… rather uncomfortable.  “I’m telling you all this,” she said, her voice becoming gentler, “so that you won’t waste energy fighting your situation.  You can’t win.  You have a new life now, and there’s no going back.  To help you realize that you _must_ become a new person, I’ve given you a new name – Smoke.  That’s the name you’ll answer to from now on.”

Jamora took a couple of steps back and deactivated the Paralysis command, preparing herself to deal with his reaction.  Patriarchal males were always fiercely resistant to losing their status as the dominant sex.  She steeled herself to Punish him again if she had to.

Smoke rose to his feet and looked at her, his face almost expressionless.  “Abuse women?” he said, his eyebrows rising.  “Is that really what you think of me?”

He had surprised her again.  “We’ve done a complete physical and psychological examination on you, Smoke,” she said.  “We know you’ve lived a life of violence.”

“I’m a professional soldier!” he said, and now his voice and eyes snapped with indignation.  “So yeah, I’ve lived a life of violence.  And I’ve done some things I’m not so proud of.  But I’ve never abused a woman in my life.  I’m not that kind of guy.”  His expression took on a certain poignancy.  “Which you _know_ , Sam.  Because you know me.  Or at least, you used to.  You’re an American soldier, just like I am.  We served together for four years.  You were born on _Earth_ , same as me…”

Jamora felt her blood pressure rising.  “Stop it!” she barked, and backed it up with a Warning command.  He grimaced at the stab of pain.  “I was born _here_.  And my name is _Jamora_.  I forbid you to call me by that other name again, or continue playing this strange game.”  She shook her head and looked him in the eyes, trying to reach out to him.  “I know all about your psych profile, Smoke.  I know you’re full of tricks.  Some people even recommended you be put down.  But I…” she paused, searching his angular face.  He currently looked about as reachable as a block of granite.  “Somehow I just don’t believe you’re that bad.  So I took a chance and Claimed you.  Please don’t make me regret it.  I don’t want to have to send you back to the Bureau.”

For a moment his face softened.  But then his mouth grew thin again, and his eyes flashed.  “Did you say _put down?_   Are you telling me somebody was going to kill me just ‘cause they didn’t like my attitude?  Nice world you’ve got here.”

Jamora tensed again.  “Yes,” she said, “it _is_ a nice world, actually.  Because on this world, women rule.  On this world, males submit to female leadership, and everyone is happier for it.  Including the males.”  She sighed.  “I’m not your enemy, Smoke.  On the contrary, I…”  she paused, looking searchingly into his hard brown eyes.  “I believe you have potential.  That’s why I’ve chosen you to be my concubine – the father of my children.  The _possible_ father of my children.  _If_ you prove to me you can be a peaceful and productive member of this household.”

Jamora saw that her words were having an effect.  His face had lost that closed expression.  In fact, his mouth was hanging open and he seemed truly thrown off balance, in a way he hadn’t been even when she had demonstrated the Collar.

“You picked me?” he asked, his voice soft.  “Even though you don’t know me?”

“Yes,” she said, watching him carefully.  He seemed pleased yet incredulous.  For a moment, his demeanor was almost shy.  Jamora felt strangely touched.

“Even though you’re one of the…” he waved a hand vaguely, “Mothers of Assurance?  ‘Cause you _remember_ being born on this planet, right?”

“Naturally I don’t remember my own birth,” said Jamora, dodging the implied question.  She wasn’t about to let this slippery male know she had no memory of her life prior to eleven months ago.  Her memories might be gone, but she had a mountain of evidence to prove who she was!  And it would be a mistake to reveal any weakness.  So she gave him a stern glare and said, “I explained who I am, and I’ve already warned you what will happen if you fail to acknowledge it.”

He grimaced and shifted irritably.  Then his eyes went back to her, flicking up and down her body.  He looked quickly aside, then back at her face.  “By the way,” he said, “you look great.  I mean, you look like you’re doing okay.  I _mean_ ,” he stumbled, “not just okay.  Way better than that.  You look…” he stopped.  He gestured in her direction.  “That outfit, that’s…”  He stopped again.  “ _Wow_.”

Jamora found herself grinning.  She felt absurdly pleased.

He smiled in return.  It was a subtle smile that barely touched his mouth, yet made his eyes light up.  Shuffling his feet, he said, “By the way, why ‘Smoke?’  Why’d you pick that name?  Is it ‘cause you think I’m… smokin’?”

“I picked it because of your grey hair,” said Jamora.

“Oh,” he said, obviously deflated.  Jamora had to repress a smile at this endearingly child-like reaction.  He really was a bundle of contradictions.

“Where’s Daniel?” he asked.  “Is he still in that cell?”

“Don’t worry about your companion.  He’s in good hands.  He was Claimed as a concubine by a very nice woman.”

Smoke cocked his head slightly, looking bemused.  “Daniel’s a concubine too?  No kidding.  Sure he’ll be okay?”

“I’m sure,” she said, smiling a little.

“Any chance I might see him?  You could come along, of course.  You _should_ come along.  I think you’d get a kick out of meeting Daniel.  He could tell you about some of the strange stuff we’ve run into.  Like memory implants.  False, artificial memories.  That kind of thing.”

 “ _Smoke_ ,” she warned, her voice hard.  She could feel herself really getting angry.  She wasn’t about to let some Unredeemed male’s perverse mind games make her doubt herself even for a moment.  She would _not_ go back to that terrible, utterly lost feeling of not knowing her own identity.

He held up a placating hand.  “Okay,” he said.  “I get it.  If I don’t shut up, you’ll zap me.”  He grimaced again and rubbed his hand over his face, and then looked down for a moment.  When he looked up, his body had gone still.  “Okay,” he said, his voice soft but decisive.  “I surrender.”

“You… surrender?” said Jamora, regarding him warily.

“Yep.  I really hate getting thrown in the briar patch like this, but I think maybe it’s time for me to just accept my fate.”  And he smiled at her again.  A slight, lopsided smile that made his dark eyes come alive with mischief and warmth.  “I’ll do whatever you want,” he went on, his voice soft, his expression turning serious.  “I’ll give you… anything you ask.”  And now his eyes were full of heat.

Jamora felt blood rushing into her face, and a curious tingling in her scalp.

“Really?  You’re actually agreeing to be obedient and respectful?”

Smoke raised his eyebrows.  “Obedience and respect are my middle names.  But there _is_ just one thing…”

_Here it comes,_ thought Jamora.  “What?”

“I’ll try to remember to call you Jamora.  I really will.  Honest.  But I may slip up.  ‘Cause you see, you remind me of somebody I used to know.  Somebody very special.  Named Sam Carter.  Major.  Samantha.  Carter.”  His eyes were suddenly filled with such powerful, barely contained emotion that Jamora stood transfixed.  “She was a soldier, like me.  Only not like me.  So much more than me.  She was a brilliant scientist, too.  If you gave her some complicated techno-doohickey, she was like a kid at Christmas.  And she was brave.  Dedicated.  Loyal.  Kind.  And beautiful.  Very beautiful.  Just like you.”  For a moment, Jamora felt oddly dislocated – almost dizzy.  “So if I slip up and call you Sam – or Carter – don’t zap me, okay?  ‘Cause that would really put a damper on things.”

Jamora gave her head a shake.  She shouldn’t have let him go on like that.  She felt disturbed and… disappointed.  He was still playing games.  Or was he?  He seemed so sincere.  Maybe there really was someone named Sam Carter…

Jamora took a deep breath and bit her lip.  She looked at Smoke, who was watching her expectantly.  “Kiss my feet,” she said.

He was perfectly still for a beat, his face expressionless, before blurting, _“What?”_

“Kiss my feet,” she repeated.  “It’s an Ashoran custom.  It’s the way a male shows submission and affection to the woman he Serves.”

“You guys are watching too many gladiator movies,” said Smoke.

Jamora’s lips compressed.  She didn’t understand the reference, but she understood the intent.  “You just told me you’d do anything I asked.  Yet now you won’t do even the first thing I ask.  Your words aren’t worth much, are they?”

Smoke’s expression darkened.  He scrubbed his face again, then gave her a look of resigned irritation.  “Only for you,” he said.  Then he took a step forward and fell gracefully to the floor before her.  Through her slipper, she felt him kiss the top of her right foot.  Then he did the same to her left foot.  And then she felt him quickly kiss her left ankle, above the slipper.  It was just a brief touch of his lips, but the skin-to-skin contact sent an amazing shiver through her body.

He stood, and now he was very close to her.  Close enough to feel the heat from his bare chest.  She looked up into his eyes.  His expression was intense, perhaps a little angry.  “Satisfied?” he asked, his tone sardonic.

Jamora felt that the handbreadth between them was vibrating with energy, like the space between two electrically charged plates.  Any moment now, a white-hot spark would arc across the gap.  Or perhaps it was more like the field tension between two opposing magnetic poles… because, seemingly without conscious volition, Jamora found that she had closed the gap.  She had pressed her bare breasts against his bare chest, wrapped her arms around him, and was rubbing her face against his warm, bare shoulder.

She felt his arms go around her.  He kissed the back of her neck.  She took the flesh of his shoulder between her teeth, just gently holding it, then let go and kissed it.  She felt him draw a breath, and hold her tighter.  The front of his loin-cloth was against her stomach and she could feel he was already prepared to Serve her.  She wouldn’t need to use the Collar for that.  The thought of using the Collar to control his sexual responses was quite unappealing anyway.

She reached a hand into his hair, clutching at it.  Their eyes met.  Then she pulled his head toward her and kissed him.  She softly felt his lips with hers, then slipped her tongue in his mouth.  His mouth was responsive and hot.  She felt engulfed by a masculine scent that had a clean, outdoor quality.  It made her think of the way the air felt before a big storm, the wind that swept over you just before the downpour hit.  She kissed him deeply, and he kissed back hard.

A storm was coming.  It was building up in her groin, making her breasts ache…

Panting, she pulled back and looked into his eyes.  “I want you,” she said.  “But you have to be good.  You have to _submit_.  Don’t make me hurt you…”

“I told you,” he said, his voice soft and rough, “I’ll do anything you ask.  But there’s one thing I’d like to ask from you.”

“What?”

“Call me Jack.”

She stiffened in his arms.  “That’s not your name anymore.”

“Just once,” he said, his long fingers touching her face.  “That’s all I’m asking.  I just want to hear you say my name once.  After that, you can call me anything you like.”

His eyes, which had been so flinty earlier, were now like dark pools, suggesting tremendous depths of feeling.  Jamora felt something immense blossoming within her in response, until it seemed it would squeeze out all the air in her lungs.  She put her cheek against his and closed her eyes.  “Jack,” she whispered, breathing the name into his ear.  Unaccountably, a tear trickled out between her lashes.

She felt him draw an unsteady breath.  He tightened his arms around her and buried his face against her neck.  For an immeasurable moment, they just clung together.

Then he lifted his face and gave her a wry smile.  “Okay,” he said.  “What are my orders, Ma’am?”

Jamora grinned at him, feeling light-headed with desire… and joy.  She didn’t say anything.  She just brushed her hands down his body, to the fastening of his belt.  She stripped off his loin-cloth and cast it aside, enjoying his stunned look.

Then she wrapped her hand around his erect cock, gently squeezing and caressing.  It was so large and taut, yet so velvety soft.  He made a low sound.  She put her other hand along the side of his jaw and watched as he closed his eyes.  He had long, thick lashes, which added a wonderfully sensual aspect to his hard face.  “Holy crap,” he muttered.

Jamora moved her hand from his face to his shoulder and began pushing him toward the bed.  He fell back onto it and crawled backwards.  She climbed in on top of him and attacked his face and chest with her mouth, kissing and nipping, while her hands groped and caressed.  He kissed back fiercely, one hand lifting her skirt and sliding up her thigh.  She gave a gasp as his mouth moved to her breast, sucking and teasing her nipple.  Their embraces became frantic, each breathing heavily.

Jamora gave a groan of longing and pulled back long enough to lift her skirt and pull off her underpants.  She didn’t need or want any more foreplay.  She wanted to feel him inside _right now_.  She took hold of his cock and guided herself onto it, all the way down, in one long movement.  She cried out at the exquisite sensation, and heard Smoke gasp.

She began moving on top of him.  Her left hand found his right and they gripped tightly, fingers interwoven.  Their bodies were rocking together, rocking fast.

Then he reached out and took hold of her arms, slowing their movements.  “Sam, wait,” he gasped.  “God, you’re killing me.  Don’t know if I can keep this... up…”  His face was tense with passion, and completely unguarded.  His dark eyes glistened.  He squeezed them shut, the long lashes clumped together with moisture.  “God, I love you,” he said, the words spilling out with simple conviction.  A strange bolt of sensation shot up through Jamora’s body, threatening to take the top of her head off.  It wasn’t an orgasm.  Not yet…

He opened his eyes, and his brows drew together.  “Too much.  Sorry…”

Now his face was touched with embarrassment, but Jamora shook her head at his expression.  “It’s okay,” she said.  And it really was.  “Go ahead…”

His body arched back then, muscles rigid.  His face clenched and he cried out.  Jamora held still, absorbing the look in his face, the sweaty heat of his body against her thighs, the throbbing of his cock inside her.  A feeling swelled within her, as deep and vast as the ocean.  She reached out her hand, brushing her fingers against his face.  “ _Jack,_ ” she whispered.  Then the ocean crashed violently against the shore.  And the waves just kept coming.

When they finally receded, Jamora slumped down on his body.  Smoke put his arms around her.  She lay with her head on his shoulder and her breasts against his chest, his slowly shrinking manhood still inside her.  She sighed and smiled.  Delicious aftershocks continued to ripple through her now-languorous body.

 “Holy crap,” Smoke muttered.  There was something about the way he said it that sent Jamora into a fit of giggles.  “Hey,” he said, stroking her hair, “no giggling.”


	3. An Awkward Situation

Daniel awoke and found himself staring up at – blue sky?  No, it was a ceiling that depicted blue sky and gold-tinted clouds.  But the clouds were slowly moving.

He sat up quickly.  This time there was no dizziness, but the whole waking-up-in-strange-surroundings thing was getting old.  The last thing he remembered was sitting in that white cell, having a desultory argument with Jack.  He now found himself sitting on a large bed in a large, luxuriously appointed room.  The walls were sky-blue, dappled with soft, slowly drifting patches of gold and white.  There was furniture in a blond wood, with enamel inlay, all in a curvilinear style that made Daniel think of Art Nouveau.  Daniel took this in as he did a quick scan of the room, but his attention was immediately drawn to the woman who sat in a chair across from the bed.

She wore loose, wide pants – almost a divided skirt – with a broad, tightly cinched belt, and a bodice-blouse that was tight-fitting except for billowy sleeves.  The bodice supported her breasts but did not cover them.  Her long, brown hair was arranged in many plaits.  Daniel felt he could see Ancient Minoan influence in her clothes and hairstyle.

She smiled at him and said, “Hello.  My name is Ashasti Daughter-of-Levash.  You have been Liberated by the Matriarchy of Ashora, and I am your new Keeper.  I know you’re probably feeling confused and anxious, but there’s no need to be afraid.  On the contrary, you have much to celebrate.  You have entered the embrace of the Great Goddess, the All-Mother, who loves you and will care for you tenderly.  I am Her agent, and I will provide for you and guide you in your new life.”

Daniel opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a finger.  “Wait,” she said, her voice firm.  “I’ll let you ask questions later.  First, you must listen.”  Daniel subsided and let her continue.

“In your new life, you’ll never have to fight again.  You _must not_ fight anymore.  We keep the peace of the Goddess here.  Male aggression isn’t tolerated.  As your Keeper, it is my responsibility to ensure your good behavior.  And I do have the power to control you.  Let me demonstrate.”

Daniel suddenly fell back on the bed.  He had lost all control over his muscles.  He couldn’t move at all – except for his eyes.  As he kept trying to move, only to find his body completely unresponsive, Daniel found himself fighting a sense of panic.

Ashasti walked over and stood next to the bed, looking down on him.  She began describing the capabilities of the Collar that he was wearing.  She explained how it could send signals to several centers within his brain – including the pain center – and how she could command his Collar through the neural implants in her brain.

“I know you might be inclined to resent the Collar,” said Ashasti.  And Daniel thought, _You got that right._   “But,” she went on, “the Collar is really your friend.  It not only protects others from your aggression, it also protects you from yourself.  From the worst qualities within your heart.  It enables you to live your life without being tempted by masculine impulses to hurt others.  It frees you from the masculine need to constantly jockey for power and position.  You no longer have to worry about any of that.  We Daughters of Ashora will take care of you, just as your mother did when you were little!  To help you adjust to your new life – to help you understand that you must become a new person – I’ve given you a new name.  From now on, your name is Blue Star.  That is the name you will answer to.”

Ashasti moved back and sat in the chair again.  And Daniel discovered – with a considerable sense of relief – that he had regained control over his body.  He sat up and looked at Ashasti.  She was watching him with an expression that combined sympathy and wariness.

His brow furrowing, Daniel said, “Thank you for explaining things so clearly.  I can see you mean well toward me.  But the thing is, I don’t come from a patriarchal society.  Well,” he said, frowning, “not _very_ patriarchal, anyway.  I mean, I can understand where you’re coming from with regard to the Atrosians – the people whose world we were on when you… umm… found us.  _They’re_ definitely a patriarchal society that’s quite violent and oppressive to women.  And to men, too.  I mean, they’re slave traders.”  Daniel’s voice became more energetic as the thought of the Atrosians filled him with outrage.  “Their basic technological level is medieval, but they’ve gotten hold of a stockpile of Goa’uld weapons and a list of Stargate addresses and they use them to run an interstellar slave-trading operation.  Which is appalling, and I can understand why you wouldn’t approve.  We don’t approve either!  As a matter of fact, the reason we were on their world is because we were looking for a friend of ours – a woman – that we suspect they kidnapped.”  Daniel knew he was babbling a little.  He had a tendency to do that when he was nervous.  “Anyway,” he went on, “the point is, we’re not Atrosians.  We come from an entirely different world.  Called Earth.  And we would be interested in establishing peaceful relations with your world.”

Daniel leaned forward, concentrating on Ashasti’s face and wishing he could somehow beam everything he was feeling directly from his heart to hers.  “The society I come from doesn’t oppress women, Ashasti.  We believe that every individual, whether male or female, deserves to be treated with respect and has the right to make decisions for himself or herself.  At least,” he added, “those are the values we aspire to, even if we don’t always live up to them perfectly.  I promise you that those are the values _I_ believe in – very strongly.  And by the way, my name is Daniel Jackson.  Dr. Daniel Jackson.  I’m an archeologist and explorer.  And I would very much appreciate it if you would take off this Collar, because it violates the integrity of my body, and like most people, I find that highly objectionable.  Just ask yourself how _you_ would feel, Ashasti.  How would _you_ feel in _my_ shoes?”

Ashasti frowned and shifted uncomfortably.  For a moment Daniel thought he might have gotten through to her, but then she said, “I know you’re not an Atrosian, Blue Star.  You were given a complete medical and psychological examination.  That’s part of the process when we take in patriarchal males.  But all societies that aren’t ruled by women are basically the same.  They are ruled by males who have given in to the corrupt side of their masculine natures.  And I know you had a name in the patriarchal society you came from, but I’m not interested in hearing it.  Your name is Blue Star.  If you repeat your old, patriarchal name again, I will have to punish you.  I have no wish to hurt you, Blue Star, but you must understand that if you are disobedient you will be disciplined.”

Daniel could feel his whole face pinching together with disappointment.  “For my own good, of course,” he muttered.  It was apparent these people regarded all societies other than their own as fundamentally “patriarchal” and bad.  He suspected that was one of the basic premises of their society – if not _the_ basic premise.  So he wasn’t going to have any luck convincing Ashasti otherwise, at least not right away.

“What did you say?” Ashasti asked, her voice sharp.

“Umm,” said Daniel.  “You said my life will be good here.  Could you tell me a little more about your society, and what my role is expected to be?”

Ashasti relaxed and smiled at him.  She had a very nice smile.  She was a pretty woman, with a sweet face dominated by large, doe-like brown eyes.  And Daniel couldn’t help noticing that she had pretty breasts, too.  Despite the whole disturbing situation, Daniel had found his eyes being repeatedly drawn to them.  Which was silly, because he knew very well that women went topless in many cultures and it didn’t necessarily have any erotic connotations.  Just because he was an American male, that didn’t mean he had to indulge in the whole American obsession with mammary glands.  He was a triple-doctorate, not some unsophisticated schmuck!  So he really should stop staring at the woman’s breasts.

That was what Daniel was thinking when Ashasti said, “Actually, I’ve chosen you to be my concubine.”

Daniel felt his mouth drop open.  “I’m sorry?”

“As my concubine,” she said, “you will be an integral part of this household.  You will be my sexual partner and perhaps the father of some of my children.  You will participate in rearing our children – _if_ you prove yourself worthy.”

Daniel felt heat rushing into his face.  “I’m flattered.  But I don’t think I can accept the offer.  Not that I don’t think you’re attractive!” he added hastily.  “Because I do, actually.  But I don’t know you.  At all.  And where I come from, people don’t just hop into bed with each other just like that.  _Well,_ ” he stumbled, feeling compelled to try to be accurate about social mores, “I guess some people do, actually.  But… umm… I’m not one of them,” he finished, feeling extremely self-conscious.

“Don’t worry,” said Ashasti.  “Deep down, all males feel the desire to Serve.  To Serve women sexually.  It’s part of your _true_ masculine nature, in its uncorrupted form.”  Ashasti gave him a knowing smile.  “Haven’t you already been admiring my feminine qualities?” she asked.

Daniel’s face got hotter.  He felt as if it was about to burst into flames.

“In patriarchal societies,” Ashasti went on, “the impulse to Serve can become horribly twisted and ugly.”  She shook her head, and for a moment a look of stern disapproval crossed her features.  “But as you settle into your new life and submit to the ways of the Goddess, you’ll find that your true masculine nature will begin to express itself.  The sooner you surrender yourself to the Goddess, the sooner you’ll be able to find genuine fulfillment.”

“Are you implying that I don’t have any choice?  About who my sexual partner is?”

“Well,” said Ashasti, “right now you are an Unredeemed male.  So no, you don’t.  Those decisions have to be made for you.”

Daniel was aghast.  “I can’t believe you’re saying that.  Would you really try to force me to have sex with you against my will?  Don’t you think there’s something very wrong with that?  Besides, I’m a man.  It wouldn’t be too easy for you to _force_ me to have sex, due to the… anatomical considerations.”

“Oh,” said Ashasti, “but a male’s sexual anatomy is one of the things the Collar can control.  Didn’t I mention that?”

Daniel felt his face freeze.  His whole body seemed to freeze, as the implications set in.  That was _so_ not right.  He looked at the sweet-faced woman across the room and said, softly, “So you really could rape me?”

Ashasti looked bewildered.  “Of course not.  That’s a horrible thing that Unredeemed males do to women on patriarchal worlds.  Males can’t be raped.”

“You just explained that we can be, on this world.”

She shook her head, still looking confused.  “But,” she said, “males always _want_ it.  Deep down.  Unredeemed males need to truly Serve a woman to help them cast off their corrupt ways.”

Daniel just looked at her.  He was momentarily speechless.  To be sure, there was a certain black humor to the situation.  But it was difficult to feel amused given that he was completely in someone else’s power.  “Ashasti,” he said, “if I tell you that I don’t want it, I hope you’ll believe me.  Because if you didn’t, that would be… bad.”

Ashasti looked into his eyes, and she must have seen something there that affected her.  Because she came across the room and sat down on the bed beside him, her face full of concern.  She put a hand on his arm.  “Don’t be afraid, Blue Star.  I’m not going to hurt you.  On the contrary, it’s my responsibility to take care of you.  I’m not going to make you Serve me before you’re ready.  I don’t believe in using the Collar to control a male’s sexual responses anyway.  Not unless the male asks for some help.  I believe it’s better to do things the natural way.”

As Daniel looked into her open, sympathetic face, he felt something inside of him begin to unclench.  The idea of actually being raped by a woman – even a woman he found attractive – was very painful.  He’d had something like that happen to him already, at the hands of Hathor.  Fortunately, he’d been so drugged out of his mind that his memory of the incident was extremely hazy.  He tried not to remember it at all.  He tried to pretend it had never happened at all.

“I want you to be happy, Blue Star,” said Ashasti.  “I truly do.”

Daniel looked into her eyes and said, “What would make me happy is to have the freedom to go home.  _With_ my friend, Samantha Carter – the woman I told you about.  The one we were searching for.  She’s been missing for over a year and we’re all worried sick about her.  I’d like for her and me and my other friends, Jack and Teal’c, to all be able to go home together.  That’s what would really make me happy.  And by the way, where is Jack?  He was captured with me.  Do you know what happened to him?”

“You _are_ home, Blue Star.  This is your home now, and you _can_ be happy here,” said Ashasti.  “As for your friend, he’s in good hands.  He was Claimed as a concubine by another woman.”

Daniel felt his mouth drop open again.  “ _Jack_ is a male concubine?”  Daniel found it difficult to wrap his mind around that concept, or imagine how Jack would react.  Even after knowing him for years, he sometimes found Jack’s reactions difficult to predict.  When it came to certain things.  When it came to other things, of course, Jack was _extremely_ predictable.

“Will he be all right?” Daniel asked, feeling kind of worried.  “Is there any chance this woman might… you know…”

“Oh,” said Ashasti, “Jamora strikes me as a very nice person.  I’m sure she wouldn’t push this male to Serve her before he was ready.”

“That’s a relief,” said Daniel.  “But could I talk to my friend?  To make sure he’s okay?”

Ashasti’s brows drew together.  “We don’t allow Liberated males to associate with males they knew in their former, patriarchal lives.  It just perpetuates bad habits.”

“Naturally,” said Daniel, with a sigh.  “But couldn’t I talk to him just once?  If I could be sure my friend was all right, I would feel much better able to concentrate on adjusting to my new life.”

“I’ll think about it,” said Ashasti.  Then she climbed out of bed and said, “Come with me, Blue Star.  I want to show you around your new home.”

Daniel followed her out the bedroom door and onto an indoor balcony.  Behind him was a wall with the door they’d come through and several other doors.  In front of him was a banister, with the open space of an atrium beyond it.  The far wall of the atrium was a seamless, three-story window.  Through it, Daniel could see a large courtyard with trees and fountains, surrounded on all sides by more of the house.  It was dusk outside.

And Daniel was able to see the courtyard clearly, even though he no longer had his glasses.  “By the way,” he said, gesturing toward his eyes, “what happened to my glasses?  And how come I seem to see okay without them?”

“Oh,” said Ashasti, “we noticed the flaws in your vision, so we went ahead and surgically corrected them.  It’s a simple procedure for our medical science.  So you won’t need to wear that optical device on your face anymore.”

“Ah,” said Daniel.  “Very thoughtful of you.”  His words were more than a little sarcastic, but he doubted she would notice.  Anyone arrogant enough to perform elective surgery on someone without his permission – however “simple” the procedure – was unlikely to understand why it would elicit sarcasm.

Ashasti led him along the balcony to the left, and then down a spiral staircase to a living area on the floor of the atrium.  Curved, cozy-looking couches were arranged around a central fireplace.  A tube came down from the high ceiling and fanned out over the fireplace to draw up the smoke.  The tube was decorated with spiral patterns that slowly moved, and there were more moving spirals on some of the walls.

Daniel took in his surroundings with great interest, looking for more clues to the nature of this culture.  The décor didn’t seem obviously Minoan.  The furniture was all done in a sensuous, curvilinear style.  Daniel was once again reminded of Art Nouveau, but with some sleek, modernistic touches.  Everything had the feel of high-tech luxury.  And Ashasti’s house seemed to be huge.  Either she was rich, or the general standard of living on Ashora was very high.  Maybe both.

“Your house is beautiful,” said Daniel.

“I’m glad you like it,” said Ashasti.  “Remember, it’s your house, too.”

But Daniel barely heard her, because his attention had been captured by something on the far side of the fireplace.  Could it be?  He strode rapidly over to that side of the room.

Yes!  It really was!  There, on the wall, was a picture showing a huge bull.  Incredibly, a young man was somersaulting over the bull’s back.  The picture caught him in the act, with his hands on the bull’s back, his feet in the air, and the long plaits of his auburn hair flying.  Two young women stood to the front and rear of the bull.  One had grabbed the bull’s horns, ready to be the next leaper, while the other stood with her arms outstretched, obviously ready to assist the young man on his way down.  Daniel was entranced.  The picture was almost exactly like the famous Bull Leaping mural from the Ancient Minoan palace at Knossos, only this was no painting!  This was a photograph – a holograph, in fact.  Incredible!

Next to the Bull Leaping holograph was another.  This one showed a group of five young people, all in their late teens.  There were three women and two men.  All of them were grinning hugely, their arms around one another, and each held a golden double-headed axe – an object with ritual significance to the Ancient Minoans.  Daniel got the impression the golden axes were trophies.  In fact, several of the objects were mounted on the wall next to the holograph.  He was probably looking at a team of champion Bull Leapers.  The auburn-haired young man at the center of the group looked like the same guy who was leaping over the bull in the other picture.

All the young people wore iridescent loin-cloths and a few bits of jewelry, but the two young men also had Collars around their necks.  The Collars looked the same as the ones the Ashorans had clapped on Jack and himself, except they were gold instead of black.  Silver pendants dangled from the Collars.

“That is the Bull Dance,” said Ashasti.  She had walked up beside him.  “It’s a sacred sport played in honor of the Goddess.”

“Yes!” cried Daniel.  “I know!  That is, I suspected.  It’s what most archeologists believe, but the People of Light and Dark weren’t able to tell me much about it because they’ve lost the tradition.”  Daniel was full of excitement.  He heard himself speaking rapidly as his mind raced.  “That’s because the Goa’uld that kidnapped their ancestors from ancient Crete neglected to provide them with any cattle.  Typical Goa’uld thoughtfulness.  But obviously, the tradition is very much alive among your people.  Fantastic!  Any chance I could actually witness the Bull Dance?”

Ashasti smiled.  “I think that could be arranged.  Once you’ve been here a little longer and settled in a little more.  But who are these Ancient Minoans you’re talking about?  And the People of Light and Dark?”

“The Ancient Minoans were a sophisticated Bronze Age civilization.  The center of their civilization was on an island called Crete.  And the People of Light and Dark live on one of the Stargate worlds.  Their ancestors were brought there from Crete thousands of years ago, by a Goa’uld pretending to be the Great Goddess.  I’m assuming your people got their start in much the same way, only you must have escaped Goa’uld control a long time ago.  Because the Goa’uld would never stand for any of their human slaves having your level of technology.”

“Yes,” said Ashasti, looking surprised at Daniel’s insight.  “That’s very much what happened.  My ancestors soon realized that the powerful being who had transported them to a new world wasn’t really the Goddess, so they rebelled against her.  They were able to kill her and her small contingent of Jaffa.  As we later learned, this Goa’uld was only a minor player and the other Goa’uld didn’t pay much attention to her passing.  They didn’t even know that Keftu existed.”

“Keftu?” asked Daniel.

“Yes.  That was the name of our original world.  For a long time, my people prospered there.  They discovered the ways of science and learned much from the machines left behind by the Goa’uld.  They created a wealthy, technologically advanced civilization.  So long as the people of Keftu worshipped the Goddess and kept to Her ways, they were blessed.

“But in time, the males of Keftu became corrupted and abandoned the ways of the Goddess.  They stopped submitting to the leadership of women.  In fact, they corrupted many of the women, too.  Keftuan society came to be marred by violence, oppression, and disharmony.

“Only a small number of Faithful women remembered the true ways of the Goddess.  They warned the Faithless that unless they returned to the bosom of the Goddess, the Goddess would withdraw her protection, and a terrible calamity would befall Keftu.  But the Faithless didn’t listen.  And so, one day, the Goa’uld discovered Keftu and destroyed it.

“Through the grace of the Goddess, a small group of Faithful women escaped the Fall of Keftu.  They came here, to Ashora.  They named this world in honor of the Goddess.  And they were determined to create a new and purer society here, one that would never fall away from the Goddess as Keftu had.  So they brought males from various patriarchal worlds, to be their mates and help build the new society.  They devised the Collar system to control the males.  And they raised their daughters and sons in the pure ways of the Goddess.

“But they also put Collars on their sons, to ensure they would never become corrupted and bring about the world’s destruction, as the males of Keftu had.  Sons of Ashora wear the Golden Collar, like those men in the holograph.  Since they’re Redeemed males, they’re entrusted with more freedom and responsibility than newly Liberated males.  But every Son of Ashora has a female Guardian who is authorized to command his Collar.  His wife, if he’s married.  Or his closest female relative, if he isn’t.  Of course, it’s just a precaution.  Many Sons of Ashora live their entire lives without ever experiencing the discipline of the Collar.

“It’s now been almost three-hundred years since the Founding.  And as you can see,” said Ashasti, gesturing around her, “the Goddess has greatly blessed us.  There were only ninety-seven Founders, but through our policy of Liberating males and females from patriarchal worlds, we’ve been able to build up our population rapidly.”

“That’s fascinating!” said Daniel.  And it really was.  He was beginning to understand how Ashoran culture had acquired such an extreme character.  The entire society had been founded by a small group of Goddess-worshiping fanatics.  And they had created a society in which all men were basically slaves!  It was incredible!  Anthropologically unprecedented!  Ordinarily, Daniel would have been thrilled at the opportunity to study this culture.  However, having to study it as a slave did sort of take the edge off the intellectual excitement.

“So,” said Daniel, “you Liberate women as well as men?  I take it the women don’t get Collared.”

Ashasti gave him a look.  “Of course not.  And of course, the females on patriarchal worlds need to be Liberated even more than the males do.”  Ashasti sighed.  “Unfortunately, all our Liberation efforts are still just a drop in the bucket.  We’d like to do more, but we have to be careful not to alert the Goa’uld to our existence.  They’d destroy Ashora just as they did Keftu.”

“But,” said Daniel, “your technology seems just as advanced as the Goa’uld’s.  I would think you could defend yourselves against them.”

Ashasti shook her head.  “The Goa’uld have the resources of a entire galaxy behind them.  So we’re not yet ready to fight them openly.  But one day, we will be.  One day, we’ll be able to take whole worlds under our wing and Liberate _all_ the women, not just a few here and there.  And all the men too, of course.”

“Of course,” said Daniel, wincing inwardly.  The idea of more worlds falling under Ashoran control was not very cheering.  The Ashorans might not be out to enslave the entire human race, like the Goa’uld were – but they _were_ out to enslave _half_ of it.

“Come on,” said Ashasti, taking his hand.  “Let’s go out into the courtyard.  I love to be outside just when evening is falling and you can watch the stars come out.”  She smiled at him, and her hand was warm in his.  Daniel felt strange.  He was inclined to like Ashasti, but knowing that he was her slave – and that she expected him to start “Serving” her at some point – was freaking him out.

They walked through a door in the transparent wall, and out into the evening.  The temperature was perfect, and the air was full of the smell of green things and the splashing of fountains.  As they walked along a garden path, hand in hand, Daniel’s other hand went reflexively to his throat, feeling his Collar.  He noticed there was now some sort of pendant hanging from it.  He lifted the pendant, trying to get a look at it.

“A Registry Pendant is attached to the Collar of all males,” said Ashasti, watching his actions.  “The color of a male’s Pendant indicates his relationship to his Keeper or Guardian.  Sons of Ashora have Golden Pendants if they’re married, and Silver Pendants if they aren’t.  Most chattel-males have Black Pendants.  That means that their Keeper is the woman who supervises their work.”

“My Pendant seems to be red,” said Daniel.

“That’s right!” said Ashasti, smiling brightly at him.  “That indicates your _special_ status as a chattel-concubine.”

“Just what I always wanted to be when I grew up,” muttered Daniel.

Ashasti gave him an exasperated look – though she seemed a bit amused, too.  Daniel reminded himself to watch his mouth.  He didn’t want to alienate Ashasti.  She had already provided a lot of valuable information.  And she was his “Keeper.”  If he hoped to contact Jack or figure out how they might get out of this, he needed her cooperation.  Besides, she seemed to be a basically kind, well-meaning person who just had been brought up to believe some rather extreme things about gender relations.  With a little patience, maybe he could talk her around.

They rounded a curve in the garden path and came into an open area with pavements, flower beds, and a number of fountains.  There were lights in the fountains, making the water glow in the gathering dimness.  Daniel looked up and saw the sky had turned black in the east, while the west was a deep purple.  Stars were indeed coming out, their patterns unfamiliar, and two smallish moons were visible as well.

“Look,” said Ashasti, pointing at an emerging constellation.  “Can you see the double-headed axe?”

“Yes,” he said.  “I think I can.”  It was fascinating how every culture saw its own particular preoccupations in the patterns of the stars.

“Ashasti!” cried a woman’s voice.  Daniel looked down from the sky, and saw four women emerging from among the trees on the other side of the open area.  Some were wearing billowing pants like Ashasti, others wore skirts.  All wore bodices or jackets that left their breasts bare.  They walked toward Daniel and Ashasti.

Ashasti seemed surprised to see them.  Then she put a hand to her cheek and said, “Oh!  The meeting!  I’m so sorry, I completely forgot.  I should have called to postpone!”

The woman in the front laughed.  She was middle-aged, dark-skinned, and a little plump.  “That’s quite all right, sister!  I understand you brought something home today that might have distracted you.”  And she gave Daniel an appraising look, her eyes wandering over his body.  Daniel dropped his hand out of Ashasti’s, feeling his face get hot again.

“Oh, Ashasti!” cried one of the other women.  This one had Asian features.  “Is this your new concubine?”

“Yes,” said Ashasti.  “His name is Blue Star.”

“Oh!” said the woman.  “What a perfect name for him!  It goes with his nice blue eyes.”

“Mmmm,” said another woman, a brunette with generous breasts.  “Forget the eyes.  I like those yummy arms and shoulders.”

Daniel became aware that all the women were running their eyes up and down his body – but none of them were actually speaking to _him_.  They were directing their comments to Ashasti, complementing her on her fine taste in masculine flesh.  Daniel felt himself getting angry as well as embarrassed.

“Nice ass, too, Ashasti,” said the dark-skinned woman, grinning.

“You think Ashasti has a nice ass?” asked Daniel, his voice quick and light.

The dark-skinned woman just laughed.  “Saucy, too,” she said.  “What a fine choice, Ashasti!  I just know he’ll do wonders for things around here.  Sometimes a household just needs one or two good concubines to balance things out.”

Even Ashasti seemed a bit uncomfortable with this remark.  And one of the other women frowned.  She was a slim, green-eyed redhead, and the only woman who hadn’t exclaimed over Daniel.  Though he had felt her eyes appraising him, too.  And she looked familiar.  Hadn’t she been in the holograph of the Bull Dancing team?  Though she’d been a teenager in the picture, and was in her thirties now.

“Ashasti,” said Daniel, “won’t you introduce me to your friends?”  He thought it would be a good idea to develop more contacts among the Ashorans.  But Ashasti and the other women looked at him with blank surprise, the way people might if a trained seal were to ask for introductions.

“I’m sorry,” he said.  “I’m not familiar with your customs.  Perhaps I’m overstepping my proper place as a male slave?”  Daniel spoke politely, and his question was partly serious.  The sarcasm that was also present in his remark wouldn’t have been obvious to people who took male slaves for granted.  But Daniel noticed that the redhead raised an eyebrow.

Ashasti sighed.  “Blue Star,” she said, speaking as if to a child, “you are _not_ a slave.  You are a chattel-male.  You are a dependent of the Matriarchy of Ashora, but you aren’t property.  You can’t be bought or sold.”

The other women nodded – except for the redhead, who looked as if she were biting her tongue.  For a moment, Daniel’s eyes met hers, and he felt an odd sense of connection.

“These friends,” continued Ashasti, “work with me at the Society for Helping Rescued Women.  You see, when it comes to Liberating females, Ashoran policy is to Liberate small girls who can be adopted into Ashoran families.  But the Liberation Teams sometimes bring back grown women, too.  Sometimes, they come across a woman who is in such terrible straits they just can’t resist helping her.  Our organization tries to provide comfort and assistance to these women.  We were supposed to have a meeting tonight, and as I didn’t notify anyone of any change of plans, I think it’s only right that we go ahead with it.  So I’ll have to excuse myself for a little while, Blue Star.”

“Oh, no, Ashasti!” said the Asian woman.  “Don’t mind us!  Don’t let us take you away from your new concubine.”

“Nonsense,” said Ashasti.  “Blue Star and I will have plenty of time together.  Besides, I think Blue Star needs to get some dinner.  Why don’t all of you go into the atrium?  I’ll join you there shortly.”

There were exclamations of agreement.  The women made some parting remarks to Ashasti, then began to move off in the direction Daniel and Ashasti had come from.  None of them deigned to speak to Daniel – though, for a moment, he thought the redhead was going to.  She met his eyes again, and her lips parted, but then she apparently changed her mind.  She moved off with the other women, and Daniel found himself gazing after her.

Then Ashasti took his hand and began leading him to the left.  On that side, the house was two stories high.  A continuous balcony ran along the second floor, while a paved porch ran along the ground floor.  Lights came on in the porch.  A man emerged from a door in the ground floor and stood there, apparently waiting for them.  He wore the Golden Collar of a Son of Ashora.

Daniel studied him curiously as they approached.  He wore a loin-cloth, but his was colorful and elaborate.  He also had a wide, pectoral necklace similar to those favored by the Ancient Egyptians.  His pectoral consisted of gold plates studded with rubies, and he had matching armbands, and a wristlet that looked as if it incorporated electronics.  Daniel had noticed that all the women wore those wristlets, too. 

The Ashoran man was of medium height, with the beautifully toned physique of a gymnast.  His long, auburn hair was arranged in three braids, with bits of jewelry entwined in them.  One braid fell down his back, while two smaller braids hung at each side of his face.  As they stopped before him, Daniel recognized the face.  Feeling excited, he said, “Hello!  You’re the Bull Dancer, aren’t you?  I mean,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the atrium, “that was you in the holograph, wasn’t it?  Somersaulting over the bull’s back?  That was amazing!  I’d love to talk to you about your experiences as a Bull Dancer… sometime.”  Daniel’s voice trailed off as the auburn-haired man stonily ignored him.  He hadn’t looked at Daniel at all.  _Am I going to be snubbed by Ashoran men as well as women?_ thought Daniel.

“You called for me, Ashti?” the man asked, looking into Ashasti’s face.  He spoke quietly, but there was an underlying strain in his voice.

“Yes,” said Ashasti.  “I’m going to our meeting, and I’d like you to take care of Blue Star for me.”  She spoke casually, but there was a strained quality in her voice as well.  “Please take him to the dining room and see he gets some dinner.”

“I’ll see to it, Ashti,” he said.  “But not in the dining room.”  His eyes flicked over to Daniel briefly, and Daniel was startled by the cold hostility he saw in them.  “The children are eating there right now,” he explained.

“Well,” said Ashasti, “there’s no reason he shouldn’t eat with the children.  He _is_ part of our family now.”

The auburn-haired man’s stony expression crumpled – though only briefly.  Then the stoic look was back.  But for a moment, he’d looked as if someone had kicked him in the gut.  And Ashasti’s expression had crumpled in sympathy, though she, too, quickly covered her distress.

_What the hell is going on here?_ thought Daniel.

“Ashti,” said the Ashoran man, “I’ll do as you think best, of course.  But didn’t this male come straight from the Bureau of Liberation?  Straight from some patriarchal world?  I really don’t feel comfortable exposing the children to him just yet.  I suggest I take him up to his room and let him have a quiet dinner there.  Let him get acquainted with his new quarters.  He’s probably had enough stimulation for one day.”

Ashasti looked over at Daniel, and Daniel looked from her worried face to the set profile of the Ashoran man, trying to gauge the situation.  He felt as if he had floundered into a pit of quicksand.  “I really don’t bite,” he said.

“I’m sure you don’t,” said Ashasti.  “But you have a great deal to learn.”  She turned back to the Ashoran man and said, “All right, Neralo.  I trust your judgment.”  She glanced briefly at Daniel, but it was Neralo’s eyes she looked into as she said, “You see, Blue Star, Neralo is my husband.  My beloved husband, whom I cherish as my special gift from the Goddess.  I love him very much,” she said, her voice breaking a little, “and nothing in the universe could ever make me love him one iota less.”

Daniel’s mouth dropped open yet again.  He saw that the Pendant on Neralo’s Collar was golden.  And he saw the unhappy intensity with which Ashasti and Neralo were gazing at each other.  They were completely absorbed in one another, but their mouths were compressed, their brows turned up in grief, their eyes glistening.  What he saw in their faces was the sort of heart-wrenching misery that two people have the power to inflict on one another only when they are in love.

_Okay_ , thought Daniel, _I don’t get it.  Why has Ashasti brought me home as a concubine when it’s obvious she’s in love with her husband?_

Ashasti pulled her gaze away from Neralo and looked at Daniel.  She put on a forced smile.  “Neralo is in charge of all the chattel-males in my household,” she said.  “In my absence, you are to obey him as you would me.  And I should warn you,” she added, “that Golden Collars include feedback circuits that allow Sons of Ashora to do some of the same things that Daughters of Ashora can do with their neural implants.  So Neralo is able to command the Collars of all my chattel-males.  Including yours.”

Daniel gave Ashasti a startled glance.  Then he looked at Neralo.  Neralo stared back, his blue-green eyes as cold and hard as a glacier.  _Oh_ , thought Daniel, _it just gets better and better_.

“Well,” said Ashasti, taking a deep breath, “I’d better get going.  They’re waiting for me.”

As Ashasti began walking away, Daniel opened his mouth to say something like, _Do you really think it’s a good idea to leave me alone with your obviously very jealous husband, who has control over my Collar?_  But he bit back the words.  Something told him it would only make things worse.  For some reason, both these people were trying to pretend everything was just fine, and Daniel knew how dangerous it could be to offend against an unfamiliar culture’s customs without understanding what you were doing.

“Come with me,” said Neralo.  His tone was hard and businesslike.  The door opened before him.  He stepped into the house and looked back at Daniel, apparently holding the door open, though he didn’t touch it.  Daniel suspected it wasn’t the sort of simple automatic door you might find on Earth.  He thought Neralo was probably using the feedback circuits in his Golden Collar to control it.

Daniel followed him through the door, up some stairs, and down a corridor.  As they walked, Daniel began to say, “Look, Neralo, I know this is an awkward situation…” but Neralo just said, “Shut up,” without even looking at Daniel.  And his tone was so clipped and final that Daniel gave up.  For the time being.  He reflected that, for someone who belonged to what was supposed to be the subservient sex on this world, Neralo seemed to have a pretty strong character.  That “shut up” had sounded almost like Jack at his worst.

They came to a door that Neralo opened – again, without touching it – and passed into a bedroom.  This one was smaller than the one Daniel had woken up in, but quite comfortable.  It had a bed, a table and chairs, and a bureau, but no windows.  The walls were cream-colored, with a scatter of starbursts in sparkly gold that slowly grew and faded.  A door led into the attached bathroom.  Neralo explained how the bathroom fixtures worked, and how to control the lights and the wall pattern.  He spoke in a dry, businesslike monotone.

“If you have a real need,” he added, “you can contact me using that device.”  And he pointed to a white rectangle in the wall.  “But let me emphasize that I won’t take kindly to being disturbed for anything but a very good reason.  If you suddenly take sick and feel like you might be dying, you can call me.  Otherwise, don’t.”

“You mean if I were dying, you’d actually help me?” asked Daniel.  Neralo gave him a sharp look, and Daniel mentally kicked himself.  “Sorry,” he said.  “Sorry I said that.  Thanks for showing me around.  I know this can’t be easy for you.  But I hope you’ll remember that I’m just a slave – excuse me, just a chattel-male.  I had no choice in this arrangement, so please don’t take it out on me.  If you’re unhappy about it, you need to talk to your wife.”

Daniel saw a flash of anger in Neralo’s eyes, and then Daniel’s world exploded in pain.  The agony had no particular point of origin in his body.  It was just – everywhere.  His entire consciousness was filled with white-hot pain.  All thought was blanked out, leaving nothing but a desperate, inchoate mental scream for the pain to _stop_.  When it finally did, Daniel found himself on his hands and knees on the floor.  Shaken, he looked up at Neralo.

“Ashasti didn’t demonstrate the Punishment function of the Collar, did she?” asked Neralo.  His voice was coldly casual.

“No,” said Daniel.  It came out as a hoarse whisper.  His throat felt raw.  Had he been screaming?

“She never does.  But don’t imagine you can take advantage of my wife’s soft-heartedness.  As she explained, I’m in charge of the chattel-males in this household.  I’m the one you’ll have to answer to most of the time.  And I won’t tolerate impertinence.  You will obey my wife without question, and be thankful for her kindness.  And you will obey _me_ without question – and hope you can earn my forbearance.  And just because you’re a concubine, don’t think that entitles you to be idle.  I’ll expect you to do some work around here.  What did you do back where you came from?”

“I’m an archeologist,” said Daniel.  “And linguist.  And explorer.”

Neralo frowned, looking both perplexed and contemptuous.  “Doesn’t sound like you have any useful skills.  But don’t worry, I’ll find something for you to do.”  He shrugged.  “I’ll have one of the house-servants bring up some dinner for you.  But don’t think you’ll be able to pull something when he comes here, just because I’m not physically present.  There are cameras in these rooms.  I can monitor you remotely, and I can command your Collar remotely, too.  And after you finish dinner, I suggest you retire.  Don’t expect to see Ashasti again today.  Those meetings can run late, and they’re something she actually _cares_ about.”

He turned away from Daniel dismissively, and began walking toward the door.  But then he stopped.  He hesitated, as if fighting with himself.  Then he swiftly turned toward Daniel again.  “And don’t imagine you can get between me and my wife,” he said.  His face was still cold, but his eyes burned.  “ _I_ am her husband.  You’re just a patriarchal barbarian.  The only reason she Claimed you is to teach me a lesson.  You mean nothing to her.”

“Neralo,” said Daniel, “I have absolutely no desire to get between you and your wife.  I would like nothing better than to get _out_ from between you and your wife.”

Neralo frowned.  For a moment, he looked as if he was finding the sincerity in Daniel’s voice and eyes hard to ignore.  But then he just turned and walked out the door.  It shut behind him with an audible _click_.

Daniel walked to the door and tried it.  It was locked, of course.  He looked around the room, at the confines of his comfortable prison, and felt very alone.


	4. Like We Met Yesterday

Jamora awoke slowly, in a cocoon of blue light and warmth.  She was lying on her side, facing her coral reef “window.”  The undersea vista gradually insinuated itself into her awakening mind – while the sensation of Smoke’s body warm against her back, his legs entwined with hers, seemed to float forward from her dreams.  She could feel his soft, regular breath against her neck.  She smiled, suffused by a sense of perfect well-being.

She and Smoke had had sex three times last night.  The second and third times had been a little less frantic than the first, but no less intensely pleasurable.  It was hard to believe how well it had all gone.  How _right_ it had felt.  It was like some sort of dream.  Smoke had followed her lead, and done so with good grace.  He had seemed genuinely happy to Serve her, just as the Book of Ashora said that Redeemed males were supposed to feel.  Had she really tamed him so quickly?

The only male she could compare him to was her husband, Lagash.  He was the only other man she could remember having sex with – not counting _them_.  And _they_ didn’t count, of course.  She had thought that sex with Lagash was quite wonderful.  He was virile and sensitive and, of course, properly submissive.  Yet her husband had never made her feel the way Smoke had last night….

The thought brought a pang of guilt.  It was as though she felt disloyal to Lagash, who had helped her so much during her struggle to rebuild her life.  But that was silly!  She was a Daughter of Ashora!  She had every right to take a concubine if she wanted.  “A woman’s love is not diminished by being given to more than one male.”  That was what the Book of Ashora said.  And Redeemed males knew that.  They didn’t suffer from the prideful, possessive jealousy that afflicted Unredeemed males.  Hadn’t Lagash already proven that?  Lagash was truly a model Son of Ashora.  She was lucky to have him!

As she was thinking that, she felt Smoke’s breathing change.  He stirred, and his arm tightened around her waist.  Then he rubbed his cheek gently against hers.  She could feel his stubble.  “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.  The sound of his voice sent a frisson through Jamora’s body, making her smile and snuggle against him.  He had such a beautiful voice.  She loved his voice.  She loved _him_.

But that unbidden thought brought a stab of discomfort – perhaps even fear.  Jamora’s body grew still as she told herself that just because they’d had one night of good sex – okay, great sex – that didn’t mean she was actually _in love_ with Smoke.  That was silly.  She barely knew him.  They’d made a good start, perhaps, but she didn’t really know where this was going.  She couldn’t assume anything.  She needed to observe him further.

Having reassured herself that she was in control of her feelings and had an appropriately rational attitude toward the situation, Jamora turned toward Smoke and wrapped her arms and legs around him.  She found herself gazing into his warm brown eyes, and was taken aback by the impact that had on her.  His hard face was relaxed, his mouth half turned up in a subtle smile.  “Good morning, gorgeous,” she told him.

His smile widened.  A soft, almost shy expression came over his face.  He looked down, the long lashes hooding his eyes for a moment; then he looked up and stroked her hair.  “Can’t believe you’re really here,” he said.  And there was something in his voice that made Jamora’s throat close up.  For a moment, she felt as if the whole universe had shrunk down to just the two of them.

Then Jamora felt something stirring.  Something warm and firm was pushing up against her body somewhere in the vicinity of her thighs.  Jamora grinned and rubbed herself against Smoke’s erection.  “What’s that?” she asked, teasingly.

Smoke put on a puzzled expression.  “Not sure,” he said.  “Why don’t we… _find out?_ ”  And with those words, he flipped her over, getting on top of her.  Jamora gave a little gasp at his sudden move.  She could feel the strength in his arms and legs, the ease with which he handled her body’s weight.  Smoke was grinning, and part of Jamora wanted to start giggling.  But when she felt Smoke’s penis pushing between her thighs, she put her hand against his chest and said, “Smoke, wait!  You have to ask permission!”

He froze.  The grin faded away, leaving his face expressionless.  He rolled off her.

Feeling bereft, Jamora turned toward him.  He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.  To her dismay, Jamora saw that his cock was rapidly shrinking.

“It’s not that I don’t want it,” said Jamora.  “It’s just that I have to teach you proper sexual etiquette.  It’s part of my Ashoran duty toward you as my chattel-concubine.”

He grimaced.  “ _Proper sexual etiquette_ ,” he repeated, his voice dripping with scorn.  “ _Chattel-concubine!”_   It was amazing the degree of disbelieving disgust he put into that word.  He still hadn’t looked at her.  He was staring upward, at nothing.  He closed his eyes for a moment.  Then he said, “Last night, you were calling me Jack.”

“Yes,” she said.  “You asked me to, and I did.  Just that once.”

He did look at her then.  “Sam,” he said, “you were calling me Jack all night!”

Jamora frowned.  Had she really done that?  She couldn’t exactly remember what she might have called him in the heat of passion….

“Guess that’s why I was kind of hoping,” he said, his voice soft.  He looked at her sadly.  “But you still don’t know me, do you?  Not at all.  Because if you did, you would know you don’t have to worry about ‘sexual etiquette.’  I could never want anything that you didn’t, Sam.”

As Jamora looked into his sincere gaze, she felt a strange sort of pressure in her head.  She gave her head a shake.  “I think I believe you,” she whispered.  “It’s just that out there, in the patriarchal universe, there are so many men who… who would.…”  Jamora stopped, unable to go on.  She was feeling more pressure in her head – almost a sort of buzzing – and it was a sensation she recognized.  She turned her back on Smoke and curled into a ball, squeezing her eyes shut and willing those terrible images to stay away, stay out of her head.

“Sam,” he said.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

His voice was so soft and gentle, but Jamora couldn’t answer.  She just hunched her shoulders.  When she felt his hand on her back, she flinched a little.  Being touched by a male sometimes brought on the flashbacks.  But she didn’t break contact with Smoke.  Somehow, the warmth of his hand on her back was okay.

Smoke didn’t say anything, but after a little while he moved closer.  He gradually, gently, wrapped his body around hers.  Jamora felt her eyes stinging.  Then tears began to fill them and fall down her face.  But the tears felt cathartic.  The touch of Jack’s body wasn’t threatening, it was comforting.  And though he didn’t say anything, Jamora felt his sympathy as palpably as the warmth of his flesh.  She took his hand and cradled it against her cheek.  It wasn’t rational, but his closeness somehow made her feel very safe.

After a little while, her tears subsided.  They lay quietly together.  Then she said, “It was the Atrosians.”

She felt his body stiffen.  “Bastards,” he breathed.  The word was just a whisper, but there was tremendous venom in it.

“I was with a small expedition on an unexplored world.  We didn’t know the Atrosians had that Stargate address, but they did.  The Atrosians captured me and took me back to Atrosia as a slave.  They do terrible things to new slaves, especially women.  I was beaten and sexually assaulted.  I only have a few fragmented memories of what they did, but they’re enough to give me flashbacks sometimes.  And nightmares.  My doctors say I was beaten more than once, but the last time was really bad.  I sustained serious head injuries.  If a search party hadn’t found me when they did and rushed me back to a hospital on Ashora, I would have died.  As it is… well, I’ve lost a great deal.  It just kills me that the only memories I have, from before waking up in the hospital, are those awful, jumbled memories of being hurt.”

Smoke’s body grew still, and a flash of panic went through Jamora as she realized what she had said.  What she had revealed!

He propped himself on an elbow and said, “You mean you _don’t_ have false memories, Sam?  You don’t have _any_ memories?”

Jamora pushed herself out of his arms and out of bed.  She stood and faced him.  “Stop it!” she said.  “Don’t you _dare_ start that again!  How could you?  And stop calling me Sam!  My name is _Jamora_.”  To her dismay, Jamora discovered that her voice was unsteady.  Her whole body was unsteady.  She was shaking!  She crossed her arms and clenched her jaw, trying to get a grip on herself.  She couldn’t let him see her weakness.

Smoke swung his legs around and sat on the edge of the bed.  He looked at her and said, “No, it’s not.  Your name is _not_ Jamora.”  He spoke with a quiet authority that Jamora found very disturbing.

_Your name is not Jamora._   The words seemed to echo in Jamora’s mind, filling her with agitation, making her dizzy.  For eleven months she had struggled to fill the void in her head, to re-learn all the things she should have already known, to heal from her trauma and become, once again, the strong Ashoran woman she was told she had been.  And now, just when she was beginning to feel some sense of security, this wild male was trying to take everything away again!

“ _Shut up!_ ” she cried.  And she hit him with a Warning command, making him grimace.  Jamora knew the Warning caused only a quick and relatively mild stab of pain, but she felt her own head start to pound and her stomach to churn.  Goddess, but she hated to hurt him….

And Smoke didn’t seem intimidated.  He stood up and faced her, his expression unflinching.  “Sorry,” he said.  “Can’t do that.  Can’t shut up.  ‘Cause I’m telling the truth.”  His calmness was in marked contrast to Jamora’s agitation.  “Your name is Samantha Carter, and you are _not_ an Ashoran.  You were born on Earth, like me.  You’re my second-in-command.  We’re both part of a team that looks for ways to protect Earth from the Goa’uld.  We explore other planets through the Stargate.  That story you told, about being part of a small expedition when you were captured…”  His mouth thinned into a grim line.  “That’s pretty much what happened.  Only you weren’t part of any _Ashoran_ expedition, Sam.  You were with us.”

Jamora felt a flare of rage at his words.  “You think because I’ve lost my memory, that makes me stupid?  I have a ton of evidence to prove who I am!  I’ve seen holographs of myself from before I was hurt.  I’ve seen my birth certificate and a mountain of other documents.  And I know people who knew me from before – my friend Neshi, my house-servants, my husband Lagash!”

Smoke’s face lost its calm expression.  His eyes narrowed.  “Your _what?_ ”

“My husband,” repeated Jamora.  “My Ashoran husband.  We’ve been married for twelve years!”

Smoke’s expression darkened ominously.  “Whoever this guy is, he’s a lying bastard,” Smoke ground out.

For some strange reason, Smoke’s reaction made Jamora feel a little steadier.  “I suppose you’re jealous of him,” she said.  “Typical patriarchal male!”

“Are you telling me I’ve actually got something to be jealous of?”

Jamora raised her chin, feeling on firmer ground.  “Of course not,” she said.  “ ‘A woman’s love is not diminished by being given to more than one male.’  Lagash understands that, because he’s a Redeemed male.  In time, you’ll come to understand it too.”

Smoke’s mouth had dropped open.  His expression managed to combine an almost comical look of shock with an intimation of serious menace.  “Are you telling me that you and this character have actually…”  His arm made a flinging gesture, as if trying to get rid of something, and his brows drew down.  “And you’re actually telling me that you _still_ …”  He grimaced.  “You’re planning to….”  He stopped, his expression growing even more disbelieving.

“If you’re asking whether I have a sexual relationship with my husband,” said Jamora, “of course I do.  And, naturally, that will continue.  He _is_ my husband.”  She didn’t think it pertinent to mention that she had only resumed sexual relations with Lagash four months ago.  It was the trauma she had suffered that had at first made her feel too… uncomfortable with him.

There was a flash of hurt in Smoke’s eyes.  Then his expression became very controlled.  “Sam, you are _not_ married to some Ashoran bozo!  These people are taking advantage of you!”

Jamora stiffened.  “My husband, Lagash,” she said, “is a wonderful man!  He’s helped me tremendously throughout my recovery process.  He’s been unfailingly supportive and understanding.  I won’t allow you to speak of him with disrespect!”

For a moment, there was a look in Smoke’s eyes that frightened her.  Then he looked away, visibly reining himself in.  He took a breath and shifted restlessly, clenching his fists.  When he turned his gaze back to her, his eyes were full of banked fire.  “Look,” he said, “you might not actually remember anything about your old life – your _real_ life – but I think you _feel_ something.  Something down inside somewhere.  ‘Cause what about,” and he gestured between them, “ _this?_ Does this feel like we just met yesterday?”

Jamora found herself taking a step back.  But then she crossed her arms again and said, “Feelings aren’t proof.”

He gave her a look that was full of annoyance – yet tinged with affection.  “Okay, Scully,” he said.  “Then let’s take a hard look at the facts.  Seems to me a society this high-tech could fake all the holographs and documents it wanted.  And as for people – they can always lie.”

Jamora was incredulous.  “That’s what you call looking at the facts?  Do you really expect me to assume everyone I know is a liar and every bit of evidence around me is faked just because _you_ tell me some crazy, unsubstantiated story?”

Smoke seemed unfazed.  “You’re right,” he said.  “My story is totally crazy – considering you didn’t tell me at first that you’ve lost your memory.  Why would I make up such a crazy story without knowing that?”

Smoke’s words had an odd effect on Jamora.  She took another step back and turned away from him abruptly.  She felt almost as though she were dodging a blow.

“And there’s something else,” she heard him say.  “Something that doesn’t seem right.  ‘Cause I’m no expert, but I’ve been around people who’ve gotten knocked on the head, had really bad experiences, all that stuff.  And when somebody loses their memory due to a trauma, the trauma is the first thing they forget.  How come it’s the only thing you remember?  Don’t you think there’s something fishy about that?”

Jamora looked back into his face.  “What are you implying?” she asked.

His mouth tightened.  “Wouldn’t that sort of memory be just the thing to make you accept the way things work around here?”  He raised his eyebrows.  “Maybe this world isn’t as far along on memory implant techniques as some of the other worlds we’ve been to.  Maybe they can’t fake a whole life – but that doesn’t mean they couldn’t manage a few strong memories.  Strong but jumbled.  Isn’t that what you said?”

A sickening wave of anxiety swept over Jamora.  He was implying that Ashorans – Ashoran _women_ – had given her those terrible memories!  He was telling her that everyone she thought had been helping her – her doctors, her friends, her husband – had all been hurting her instead!  Jamora felt herself shaking her head.  “You _are_ evil,” she whispered.

“No, Sam!”  He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.  “ _They_ are.  They’ve stolen something that belongs to you.  Something very important.  Your true identity!”

Jamora felt a kind of pressure building inside her.  “My true identity,” she said.  “As your subordinate, of course!”

“That’s not the point, Sam!”

“ _Isn’t it?_ ” she shouted.  She felt ready to explode.  “I refuse to listen to any more of this!  And stop calling me Sam!”

He looked straight into her eyes and said, “Sam.  _Come back_.”

Jamora felt as if she were being pulled into his dark, intense gaze.  The world began to spin.  She closed her eyes and gave her head a shake.  He was trying to dominate her!  She found herself breathing rapidly, almost panting.  She felt trapped, suffocated…

…and she was back there once again, in some dim room on a primitive, patriarchal world.  She felt the suffocating, revolting sensation of male hands touching her and hitting her, male bodies violating her.  The memories were jumbled and jagged, but she remembered the feelings.  Her sense of shame at not being strong enough to defend herself.  Her horror at the wrongness of it, at the evil of those men.  Her white-hot rage.  Then she felt a flash of excitement.  An opportunity!  She lashed out.  She felt something fleshy breaking beneath her hands.  And she heard a man’s strangled cry of pain.  For a moment she was filled with grim satisfaction.

…and then she was back in her bedroom, and she saw him.  He was writhing on the floor, his face twisted in agony.  He cried out again.

Jamora looked down at Jack’s torment and realized she was responsible.  She gave the mental command for the Punishment to stop – and then ran for the bathroom, reaching the toilet just in time to be violently sick.  When Jamora straightened from her retching, she caught a glimpse of movement beyond the bathroom door.  She used her neural implants to command the door to close and lock.

The bathroom door rattled.  Jamora ignored it as she splashed water on her face.  Then she sank down on the floor, feeling sick and drained.  She had hurt him so much.  She had Punished him, at full intensity, and hadn’t even known she was doing it.  She had totally lost control!

“Sam?” came his voice.  “Are you all right?”

Jamora did not reply.  He was asking if _she_ was all right.  After what she had done to him!

Well, she wasn’t, actually.  Her stomach still churned, and her head was splitting.  Did that mean she couldn’t even Punish him without making herself sick?  That would mean she had lost control of _him_ , too.  _What sort of weak-hearted woman am I?_ she thought, lost in a fog of confusion, anxiety, and physical misery.

“ _Sam_.”  His voice again.  It was soft, but it carried.

Jamora said nothing.  She didn’t know what to say.  She felt empty again – hollow.  The way she had felt in the hospital, all those months ago.  A hollow woman.  With nothing but a few razor-sharp fragments of trauma to rattle around in her empty mind and cut her up inside.

“Look,” he said, “it was my fault.  I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”

Jamora wrapped her arms around her knees and kept silent.

“Sam?” he called, his voice a little louder.  “Jamora?  Anybody?”

Jamora didn’t respond, but she was listening.  She listened to the timbre of his beautiful voice.  It was so surprisingly calm and strong.

“You had a flashback, didn’t you?” he went on.  “I saw your face just before you zapped me.  I could tell you were checking out.”  There was a pause.  “I’m sorry.  My fault.”  His voice was still calm, but she could hear an undertone of pain in it.  “I should have thought a little more about what it must have been like for you.  Waking up on a strange world, with no memories except a few really bad ones.  Not knowing your own name.  Having to rely on other people to tell you who you are.  And I know how hard you must have worked to get back on your feet again.  To feel like you’re in control of your life again.”

Jamora listened.  He was describing her feelings with uncanny accuracy.

“And then along I come, this guy you don’t remember.  This strange man from a man’s world, right?  And I pull the rug out from under you.  No wonder you lost it.”

There was a pause.  “Sam,” he said, “you’re not really going to make me do all the talking, are you?”  He rattled the door again.  “Come on, say something.  Give me a sign.  Please.  I need to know you’re all right.”

Jamora stood and padded over to the bathroom door.  She took hold of the door handle and slowly moved it up and down, though she didn’t unlock it.

“Okay,” he said.  “So you’re alive.  And you know where the door is.  How about actually opening the door?”

Jamora said nothing.  But when he started jiggling the door handle, she pressed down from the other side and resisted his movements.

“Okay,” he said.  “I think I get it.  Not that you aren’t being weird.  But I guess everything’s been pretty damn weird, hasn’t it?  It must have been very weird for you all these months.”  She heard him sigh.  “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through, Sam.  I’m so damn sorry it took us so long to find you.  But at first, we didn’t know who had kidnapped you.  We didn’t even know the Atrosians existed.  We knew the attackers carried you away through the Stargate, but we didn’t actually see them leave.  We had no idea what address they dialed.  Teal’c caught a glimpse of them, but he said he’d never seen anybody like them before.  We had him look through photographs of every kind of people we’d ever encountered through the ‘Gate, but none of them matched.  So for a long time,” he said, his voice bleak, “we couldn’t even search for you, because we had no clue where in the galaxy to even start looking.

“All we could do was stake out that ‘Gate, and hope whoever-they-were came back through.  But the days went by, and then the weeks – and there was nothing.  Zilch.  There was no activity on that ‘Gate at all – except ours.  Finally, General Hammond ordered SG-1 back to regular duty.  That’s us, Sam.  Our team.  You, Daniel, Teal’c, and me.

“So Daniel and Teal’c and I went back to trying to do our jobs.  ‘Cause soldiers can’t stop fighting just because somebody goes missing in action.”  There was a pause, and Jamora put her ear against the door.  It was smooth and cool against her cheek.  “General Hammond started trying to assign somebody to replace you.  But nobody worked out – ‘cause I made sure they didn’t.  Which was damn unprofessional of me, I know.  But I couldn’t help myself.  I kept telling everybody we’d find you.  I kept telling myself that.”  There was a long, pregnant pause, and Jamora found herself leaning her whole body against the door.

“ _God, I missed you._ ”  It was just a whisper, but Jamora heard.  Her eyes began to sting.  “It was so damn hard,” he went on.  “Not knowing if you were alive or dead.  Not knowing what was happening to you, if you _were_ alive.”  His voice had a choked quality.  She knew he found it difficult to get the words out.  “I tried not to think about it, but I kept imagining all the terrible things that might be happening to you right at that moment.  And I couldn’t even _do_ anything about it.  I couldn’t even search for you.  All I could do was pray that one day something would turn up, so we could start looking.  Or that maybe, even if that never happened, you were really okay.  Yeah, I actually tried to tell myself that.  Not that I believed myself, of course.  I just don’t have the optimist gene.”

There was another pause.  Then he said, “Somewhere along the way, I realized if I ever actually found you again, I wouldn’t be able to go back to the way things were before.  Regardless of the consequences.  I realized if God ever actually gave me another chance, I had to try to be with you for real.”

Jamora didn’t even know what he was talking about when he said “the way things were before,” but she found herself listening with her heart in her throat.

“I love you, Sam.  And I want to be with you for the rest of my life.  If you’ll have me.”

Jamora unlocked the door and opened it.  He was standing just on the other side.  She found herself facing him, riveted by his poignant gaze.  She felt powerfully drawn to him, yet still full of confusion and fear.  Her mind seemed to be splitting into two opposing halves.

A sense of déjà vu came over her.  Hadn’t she stood like this before?  Facing him, mesmerized by the passion in his gaze, overwhelmed by the emotions churning within her.  And yet there was some barrier between them, something that made it impossible to truly reach him…

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said.  “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know that,” he said.

Jamora took a deep breath.  “I remembered something,” she told him.

His eyes lit up.  “You did?”

“During that flashback, I experienced something that’s never come back to me before.  I think I remembered killing one of the Atrosians.  I think I broke his neck.”

“Good for you!” he said.  “And that shows you can remember more, doesn’t it?”

“You said it never happened at all!” she accused.  “You said my Ashoran sisters put those awful memories in my head.  Memories of being _raped_.”  As she said it out loud, Jamora’s outrage grew.  That was such an appalling thing to suggest!  How could she ever have considered believing it?  He was a wild male, and all wild males were malicious liars.  Everybody knew that.

“I said _maybe_.  I don’t know exactly what happened to you, Sam.  I only know you were missing for twelve months.  And two weeks.  And three days.  And that these people are lying to you.”

She crossed her arms and looked at him, her mouth tight.

“Look,” he said, “maybe the Ashorans have nothing but the best intentions.  Maybe they rescued you from the Atrosians and nursed you back to health.  Maybe trying to make you believe you’re somebody you’re not is just their crazy idea of helping.”  His tone made it clear how likely he thought that.  “But they’re definitely lying, Sam.  You do know that now, don’t you?”

As Jamora looked into his compelling eyes, she found her outrage fading.  It was on the tip of her tongue to say _yes_.  But then she thought of Lagash.  Had he really been deceiving her all this time?  Along with Dr. Lishet, and Neshi, and everyone else?  Jamora turned away from Smoke and stared at the wall, idly tracing a tiny blemish.

“Okay, Sam,” he said.  His voice was gentle.  “I’m not going to try to push you anymore.  I’ve said my piece.  And you’re the scientist.  I know you’ll figure out how to determine the truth.  When you’re ready.”

She sighed and looked at him.  His words made her feel more relaxed.  He smiled at her, and she became aware that he was still naked.  They were both still naked.  Goddess, but he had a powerful effect on her!  She was beginning to feel that magnetic pull again…

Then Jamora’s mind did another abrupt shift, and she suddenly felt she had to get away from Smoke.  She couldn’t think straight around him, and she needed to feel in control of her own thoughts again.  She tried to scoot past without touching him, but he put out his arms and stopped her.

“Let go,” she said.  Her voice had gone hard.

He surprised her by dropping his arms immediately.  His face was very controlled – but there was a hint of worry in his eyes.  “Need to think things through?” he asked.

That surprised her again.  She bit her lip and nodded.  She turned and walked slowly to the other side of the room.  And then, she used her neural implants to suddenly open the bedroom door.  She immediately jumped through it, and shut it again behind her.

“Hey, wait a minute…” she heard him shout.  The locked bedroom door rattled behind her.  “Goddamn it, Sam!” he barked.  “Open this goddamn door!”

Jamora winced at the tone of command in his voice.  “I’ll be back soon,” she told him.

“No, Sam!” he cried.  “Don’t do it!  Don’t confront them!”

But Jamora was already hurrying down the hallway.  She practically ran down the stairs.  She had to do something to resolve the terrible split in her mind.  She needed to speak to Lagash – alone.


	5. Tell the Truth

Once Jamora was out of earshot of Smoke’s voice, she breathed a sigh of relief.  But then she stopped in the middle of her living room, suddenly feeling hesitant about how to approach Lagash.  So, instead of calling him to her by using her neural implants to signal his Golden Collar, she decided to go looking for him.

She began walking toward the kitchen, and as she did, she found herself remembering how she had felt when she first came home from the hospital.  She had walked around “her” house, hoping something would ring a bell, and feeling forlorn when nothing did – even though her doctors had warned that her memory wouldn’t come back.  But now, as she walked down the hall, she found herself noticing how familiar and comforting everything had become.  She had bought some new furniture, and decorated the walls with holographs of astronomical subjects.  Now, this house really did feel like home.

Was she going to find out it really wasn’t, after all?

Jamora followed the smell of baking bread to the door of her kitchen.  Sure enough, she saw that Lagash was there, peering into the oven.  As she stepped into the spacious room, with its stone-flagged floor and large windows that spilled morning light, Lagash must have heard her footsteps.  He turned and smiled at her.  He removed his oven mitts and apron, leaving his magnificent, dark-skinned body clad only in a loin-cloth and a few bits of jewelry.  His long, tightly curled black hair was done up in many small braids, and held back with an aqua and gold headband that matched his loin-cloth.

“There you are!  I hope you slept well,” he said.  Then he grinned.  “Or had a refreshing night, anyway.”

As Jamora met his eyes, she felt a sense of dislocation.  She felt almost as though leaving Smoke’s presence and entering Lagash’s was like stepping through a Stargate – leaving one world and entering another.  She found herself just standing there woodenly.

Lagash’s grin faded.  He had always been very sensitive to her moods.  Sometimes he seemed to know what she was feeling before she did herself.  “Darling?” he asked, stepping toward her.  “Is everything all right?”

Jamora almost laughed.  “No,” she said.  “Nothing’s all right.”  She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands.

Lagash was instantly beside her.  She heard him pulling out another chair.

“What is it, darling?” he asked.

The sympathy in his voice was so very familiar.  Throughout the past eleven months, Lagash had been her rock.  He had been a constant, caring presence that praised her progress, comforted her when she felt discouraged, and provided daily, practical assistance in a myriad unobtrusive ways.  Even more than her doctors, he had enabled her to stay afloat, and eventually learn to swim, in what had at first seemed terribly unfamiliar waters.  And he had been so patient and understanding about her initial refusal to have sex with him, and so sensitive and tender when she had finally felt ready.  Having sex with Lagash had been a healing experience.  Could all that have been just an act?

When she turned to him, she had to blink away tears.  Lagash’s expression grew even more concerned.  He took her hand.

“Mora,” he said.  “What’s upset you?  How can I help?”

Looking into his large, expressive brown eyes, Jamora found it impossible to believe his concern wasn’t genuine.  She shook her head.  “I don’t know how to say this, Lagash.  But I have to try.  Because it’s driving me crazy.”

“You know you can tell me anything, Mora.”

“Have you been entirely honest with me?” she asked, carefully watching his expression.

He gave her a wry look.  “I certainly try to be,” he said.  “Can you give me a hint as to where I might have been remiss?”

Jamora sighed.  She needed to just say it.  “It occurs to me,” she said, “that since I have amnesia, maybe somebody thought it would be a good idea to give me an Ashoran identity.”

He seemed taken aback.  “I don’t understand,” he said.

“Am I really Jamora Daughter-of-Reshesa?” she asked, her voice growing stronger.

Lagash seemed stunned.  Jamora was watching him like a hawk, but couldn’t see anything in his reaction that hinted at deception.

“Mora,” he said, sounding bewildered, “who else would you be?  I don’t understand why you’re asking such a thing.”

Jamora squeezed his hand, and gazed desperately into his eyes.  She found herself blinking away more tears, and forcing her words out through a painfully tight throat.  “ _Please_ , Lagash!  Maybe you think lying to me is somehow in my best interests, but it’s not!  I want the truth.  I _need_ the truth!”

Lagash seemed distressed and confused.  “I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Mora.”

Jamora took a deep breath.  “When’s the first time you ever saw me, Lagash?  _Tell the truth!_ ”

“But I’ve told you about that, Mora.  I’ve told you how we met.  We met one day in Great Park, over twelve years ago.  I’ve pointed out the spot!  I was going for a jog, and so were you.  You started pacing me.  When I ended my jog, you did too.  You struck up a conversation.  You asked to go out with me, and I said yes.  A few months later, you asked me to marry you.  And I said yes again.”  He smiled.  “It’s not a particularly special story.  We just very quickly hit it off.  And we’ve done very well together.  Haven’t we, Mora?”

As he said this, he looked up at the wall.  And Jamora followed his gaze to one of their wedding holographs.  There was one in almost every room of the house.  There they both stood, smiling happily, arms around one another.  She wore the traditional red wedding costume, with it’s tight-waisted, tiered skirt and open, bare-breasted jacket.  Lagash wore a red loin-cloth, and an elaborate gold pectoral generously studded with diamonds and rubies.  More jewels glinted from Lagash’s belt and arm-bands – and from the horned wedding crowns they both wore, which invoked the fecund power of the Sacred Bull.  As she gazed at the holograph, Jamora noticed that they both looked younger.  About ten years younger…

Jamora closed her eyes, feeling her head start to pound again.  Her suspicions suddenly seemed absurd.

“Mora,” said Lagash.  “Why are you asking such questions?”

Jamora looked into Lagash’s familiar face and said, “It’s Smoke.  My new concubine.  He claims he knows me!  He says I’m not an Ashoran at all, that I really come from the same patriarchal world as him!”  After the words burst out of her, Jamora bit her lip.  She hadn’t meant to reveal that.  She’d meant to keep asking questions!

Lagash looked incredulous.  “Goddess!” he cried.  “I know all patriarchal males are liars, but that’s a truly outrageous fabrication!”  He took Jamora’s shoulders and held her eyes, looking intensely worried.  “When you told me you’d Claimed a concubine,” he said, “I thought it was a good thing.  I thought it showed you were regaining a healthy attitude toward men.  But if this wild male is going to upset you like this, maybe it’d be better to return him to the Bureau of Liberation.”

“No!” yelled Jamora.  She shook off Lagash’s hands and stood up.  “I don’t want to return him.  I can’t!  They’d kill him!”

Lagash looked up at her with a stunned expression.  “Mora,” he said, “are you telling me you actually Claimed a male whose psych profile was so bad he was recommended for termination?”  Lagash looked as if he were trying to squelch his reaction – to make his appalled disbelief a little less obvious.  “Darling, I’m sorry – but what were you thinking?”

As Jamora looked into his face, her frame of reference seemed to shift even more.  To Claim a male like that _was_ crazy, wasn’t it?  Especially for someone like her, who had experienced terrible abuse at the hands of patriarchal males.  What _had_ she been thinking?

“If this male was recommended for termination,” Lagash continued, “he’s probably a psychopath.  And psychopaths can be charming and charismatic.  And clever.  They just have no conscience whatsoever.”  Lagash stood up.  “Darling,” he said, his face full of concern, “I beg you to reconsider.  This male is probably very dangerous.”

“Jack isn’t a psychopath!” she yelled.  Lagash gave her a startled look.  It was obvious he thought she was behaving very strangely.  And she was, wasn’t she?

“Mora,” he said, “You’ve made such tremendous progress.  You’ve come such a long way toward being yourself again.  But – and I really hate to remind you of this, Mora, but I have to – you’re not there yet!  Dr. Lishet hasn’t yet given you a clean bill of psychological health.  To tell you the truth, she described your mental state as still ‘fragile.’ ”  He shook his head.  “It frightens me to see what a powerful influence this wild male seems to be having on you.  It isn’t natural!  He’s taking advantage of your weakened state of mind!”

Jamora’s head was pounding.  And she was distressed to realize that she’d begun to shake again.  She wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes.  She needed to get a grip on herself.  She needed to think clearly…

“ _Wait a minute!_ ” she cried, opening her eyes and fixing Lagash with a steady look.  “Smoke acted as if he knew me the moment he set eyes on me.  He started telling this story _before_ I told him about losing my memory.  And without knowing that, why would he make up that kind of story?  Why would anyone?  That doesn’t make any sense!”

Lagash frowned in puzzlement for a moment.  Then he said, “Didn’t you mention that this male was picked up on Atrosia?”

“Yes,” she said.

Lagash looked at her sadly.  “The only people who deal with the Atrosians,” he said, “are the ones who buy slaves from them.  If this male has a relationship with the Atrosians, it’s possible he really _does_ know you.  It’s possible he saw you on Atrosia, when you were their prisoner.  And if he saw what the Atrosians were doing to you – if he saw the state you were in – perhaps he’d have reason to suspect that your memory wasn’t intact.”  Lagash’s face acquired a pained expression.  “Perhaps he knew it for certain when _you_ failed to recognize _him_.  Perhaps he _participated_ in what the Atrosians did…”

Jamora’s stomach lurched.  She ran and leaned over the sink, but only dry heaves ensued.  Her stomach was already empty.

When she straightened, she became aware of Lagash standing beside her.  “Darling,” he said, his voice gentle and full of sadness, “I’m so sorry.”  He put a hand on her shoulder, but she edged away from him.  She suddenly felt a powerful need to get away from Lagash.  To get away from everyone.

“I’m going out,” she said.  “I’m going to Great Park.”

“I understand, darling,” he said.  “You need to get away and think, don’t you?”

Jamora nodded, but didn’t look at him.  She still felt nauseous.  She had to get out!  It was becoming a compulsion.  She had felt that compulsion before, over these past months – the desperate need to get away by herself and try to process everything that was happening.

“Will you be all right driving?” asked Lagash.  Jamora nodded again.  She was already heading for the door.

But then she stopped.  She turned to Lagash and said, “Leave Smoke alone.  Don’t hurt him.”  Even as Jamora said the words, she felt confused.  Why was she still concerned about him?  He was probably a psychopath!  An enormous lance of pain hit her skull, just about splitting it open.  She had to get out of here!  She desperately needed to find a quiet space where she could try to glue the two halves of her mind back together.

“Of course I won’t hurt him, Mora,” said Lagash.  “You know I would never do anything without your say-so.  Don’t worry!  I’ll take care of things on this end.  I’ll see the wild male gets some breakfast, and I’ll call in sick for you.  Just go to Great Park!  I know that’s what you need right now.  But, darling… perhaps you should put on some clothes first?”

Jamora was mortified to realize that she was still stark naked.  And she’d been about to burst out the door like that!  She really was losing her mind.  _Again._   “Yes,” she said, her voice faint.  “Guess that’d be a good idea.”  Lagash gave her a reassuring smile, and Jamora felt a little better.  Lagash had never let her down.

Jamora hurriedly threw on some clothes from the closet in the spare room, and then made a beeline for the door.

*****

The man whom Jamora knew as “Lagash” watched through a window as Jamora got into her ground car and drove away.  As soon as she was gone, he used his data-wristlet to put in a call.  A holographic window opened, hovering in the air in front of his face.  It was mysteriously black, except for some blinking characters at the bottom that said:

PAGING SUPERVISOR FOUR

After a few minutes, a woman’s face appeared in the holographic window.  She frowned at him.  “Agent Eleven,” she said, “what do you think you’re doing?  You know you’re not supposed to contact me here, except in an emergency!”

“Exactly,” he said.  “We have a disaster on our hands.  Apparently, that concubine that Subject Twenty-Six just Claimed is someone who knew her well in her former life.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open.  “By the Sacred Bull!” she exclaimed.

“This morning,” said Agent Eleven, “Subject Twenty-Six flat-out asked me if her name was really Jamora Daughter-of-Reshesa!”

“Goddess!” cried Supervisor Four.

“I nearly had a stroke,” said Agent Eleven.  “In all my years with the Program, I’ve never had a Subject question her identity so directly!  But I managed to come up with a story that provided an alternate explanation for the male’s behavior – and put him in a very bad light.  I think I allayed her suspicions.”

“Good work,” said Supervisor Four.

He shook his head.  “I don’t think it’ll last, Supervisor.  Right now, she’s confused and very upset.  She went to Great Park, which is something she does when she needs to think.  But I strongly suspect that once she calms down, she’s going to start questioning her identity again.  Because you know the Erasure Process only erases conscious memories.  There’s always a subconscious residue.  Her subconscious is going to start telling her that this story I spun isn’t true.”

“We have to separate her from this male immediately!” said the Supervisor.

“I agree,” said Agent Eleven.  “But despite the doubts I introduced into her mind, she didn’t seem willing to part with him.  And he _is_ her concubine.  If he were just an ordinary chattel-male, we could manipulate things at the Bureau and get him recalled.  But you know what the Law is like when it comes to concubines.  It’s next to impossible for a woman’s sacred Claim to be nullified unless she chooses to rescind it herself.”

“You’ll just have to work on her some more, Agent Eleven,” said the Supervisor.  “Convince her that this male is undesirable and must be sent back to the Bureau immediately.”

He sighed.  “That’s easier said than done, Supervisor – because there’s an additional complication in all this.  Apparently, this male was recommended for termination.  The Subject knows that if she rescinds her Claim he’ll be killed, and her subconscious is going to fight that tooth and nail.”

“The Subject Claimed a male that was supposed to be put down?” cried the Supervisor.  “Why didn’t you report that yesterday?”

“I’m sorry, Supervisor,” said Agent Eleven.  “I didn’t know it yesterday.  The Subject didn’t mention it.”  He put on an innocently puzzled expression.  “Don’t you have direct access to that sort of government data, Supervisor?”

The Supervisor looked annoyed.  “A great deal of data crosses my desk,” she said.  “Subject Twenty-Six isn’t the only Subject I’m responsible for!  _You_ are the one assigned to her case, Agent Eleven.”

“Of course, Supervisor,” said Agent Eleven, his tone subdued.  “I apologize again.”  Agent Eleven knew that Supervisor Four wasn’t as good a manager as Supervisor Three had been.  She had a tendency to let details fall through the cracks.  But he knew better than to say anything.

The Supervisor had begun scrolling through some holographic read-outs.  “Actually,” she said, “this may give us an opening.  Between the fact that this male was recommended for termination, and the fact that Subject Twenty-Six is still under psychiatric supervision, we may have enough legal ammunition to get this male recalled even _without_ the Subject’s cooperation.”

Agent Eleven frowned.  “I don’t think that would be wise, Supervisor.  The Subject is very attached to this male – I can tell.  She had sex with him last night, and she isn’t the type for casual sex.  If we take him away from her forcibly, she’ll be extremely upset.  Especially if it results in his death!”

“It can’t be helped,” said Supervisor Four.  “We must separate them immediately.  We can’t allow the Subject to continue being exposed to this sort of stimulation to her memory.”

“But,” said Agent Eleven, “I thought the Erasure Process was permanent.”

“It’s supposed to be.  But we’ve never had a case in which a Subject was exposed to strong stimulus from her former life.  I’m not taking any chances!  If the Subject suddenly remembers something, who knows what she’ll do?  That’s why we must handle this situation very carefully.  Maintaining the secrecy of the Program must be our Number One priority.  And we can start by ensuring this wild male is terminated.  The fewer loose ends, the better.”

“But, Supervisor,” said Agent Eleven, “if we arrange for this male to be recalled and euthanized, Subject Twenty-Six will blame Ashoran society for his death!  Her assimilation into Ashoran society will be ruined!”

“Well,” said Supervisor Four, “we’ll just have to take that chance.  If things don’t work out, we’ll start over.”

Agent Eleven felt shocked, but he didn’t let it show.  “Start over, Supervisor?  You mean erase the Subject’s memory _again?_ ”

“Yes,” said the Supervisor.  “I’d hate to do that, of course.  Subject Twenty-Six is definitely a genius.  She’s already beginning to make valuable contributions at the Bureau of Defense, and I don’t want to interrupt her work.  But if she truly realizes that her Ashoran identity is false, we’ll have no choice.  We can’t allow the New Start Program to become public knowledge.”

“Supervisor,” he said cautiously, “I very much hope we can avoid that.  You know how difficult it is for these women to deal with total amnesia.  To have to build a new life from scratch!  And it was especially difficult for Subject Twenty-Six, due to the unusual exceptions made in her case.  The traumatic memories left partially intact.”

“You’re not going to start harping on that again, are you?” asked the Supervisor, her tone full of warning.

“Of course not, Supervisor,” said Agent Eleven.  “You explained that the medical team felt it would increase her chances for successful assimilation.  You helped me to understand it was done in the Subject’s own long-term best interests.”  Agent Eleven clenched his teeth.  “It’s just I’d hate to see her go through all that again.  After all, doesn’t the New Start Program exist to relieve these women’s suffering?  To enable them to start over as Daughters of Ashora, without the burden of painful memories from their patriarchal pasts?”

“Don’t lecture me about the purpose of this Program, Agent Eleven!  _I’m_ the Supervisor here.  _Your_ purpose is to follow orders.”  She glared at him.  “The former Supervisor may have allowed you to get away with that sort of impertinence, but haven’t I made it clear I expect better discipline from my male agents?  Regardless of whom their mothers may be?”  And Supervisor Four backed up her words by sending a Warning command to Agent Eleven’s Collar.  The two-way holographic link enabled her to send the command remotely.

Agent Eleven winced at the stab of pain – and instantly covered his other feelings.  He gazed downward, looking abashed.  “Forgive me, Supervisor,” he said.  “I didn’t mean to give offense.”  He looked up at her, allowing hurt to show in his face.  Allowing his eyes to fill with tears.  “It’s just that I get so attached to my clients.  I don’t want them to suffer.”

Supervisor Four looked uncomfortable.  “Yes, of course.  I can understand that.  But you still need to follow orders, and show proper respect to your female superiors!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his tone humble.  “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Well,” said Supervisor Four, obviously feeling magnanimous, “never mind about that.  We have more pressing matters to deal with.  You said that Subject Twenty-Six went to Great Park?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Agent Eleven.  “My guess is she’ll stay there for a couple of hours.  Possibly longer.  But I can’t be certain.”

“Very well,” she said.  She began calling up data displays and manipulating them.  “I’ll activate the tracing program so we can monitor her location while I put in some calls and get the ball rolling.  Yes, there she is.  She’s moving toward Great Park along Pleasant Boulevard.”  The Supervisor performed some rapid data manipulation.  “We’ll need to move quickly.  We need to get rid of that male before Subject Twenty-Six returns!”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Agent Eleven.

Then Supervisor Four seemed to hesitate.  “There’s something else,” she said.  “There’s another wrinkle in this case.  I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you about it.  I was hoping to spare you the worry.  But given everything else that’s gone wrong, I think I’d better give you a heads up.”

Agent Eleven watched her warily.  He had the feeling she was about to drop some sort of bombshell, but had no idea what it might be.  “Yes, ma’am?”

“One of your former clients,” she said, “is living in Ashora City.”

Agent Eleven was stunned.  “But,” he said, “I thought the Program was supposed to make certain that identity therapists and their former clients were always geographically separated!”  Once a Subject was felt to be on her feet, the Program made her identity therapist “husband” available for the next case by faking his death.  It would be a disaster for one of Agent Eleven’s former clients to run into her supposedly dead “husband.”

“Yes,” said Supervisor Four, sounding irritated, “that’s the theory.  Our agents tried to persuade her not to move to Ashora City, but they were unable to do so.”

“Who is it?” asked Agent Eleven.  But suddenly, he knew.  He knew just by the look on Supervisor Four’s face.  So he had a couple of extra seconds to cover his reaction.

“It’s Subject Twenty-Three,” she said.

After living undercover for most of the past twelve years, Agent Eleven’s inherent talents as an actor had become very finely honed.  Playing a role had become second nature to him.  Sometimes, especially lately, he had begun to think that perhaps he’d started learning to play a role even before joining the Program – just by growing up male on Ashora.  In a split second, he had decided what role to play here.  He knew that Supervisor Four had his file, so she would expect him to be upset.  He needed to act at least somewhat upset – but he had no intention of allowing her to see what he really felt.

“Her?” he asked, his voice a little choked.  “Here?”

Supervisor Four looked concerned.  “I realize you probably find the news a bit distressing,” she said.  “That’s why I tried to spare you.  I know you asked to be released from the Program in order to settle down as Subject Twenty-Three’s husband for real.  And I know you were initially upset to be denied permission.  But I believe you’ve come to understand why it would have been foolish to grant that request.  Haven’t you?”

Agent Eleven nodded, looking a bit forlorn.  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.  “Supervisor Three explained that the Program can’t afford to lose me, since I’m the best identity therapist we have.”

Supervisor Four seemed a bit unhappy with this response – though it was, in fact, what Supervisor Three had said.  “Well,” she said, “it _is_ true you’ve made some valuable contributions.  Your mother told me personally how proud she is of your work.  She said that being an identity therapist for the New Start Program is probably the most important work any male can do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.  “Mother has expressed that sentiment to me as well.”

“And I believe your mother also helped you understand why leaving the Program to settle down with Subject Twenty-Three wasn’t the right thing to do?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Agent Eleven.  And he allowed himself to remember how he had felt when he had been desperate enough to call Mother and ask her to intervene on his behalf, and she had responded by reaming him out.  As usual after one of Mother’s lectures on his duties as a Son of Ashora, he’d gone into a tailspin of guilt and confusion.  Those were the feelings he allowed to show on his face.  The secret to being a good actor was to use true feelings to tell a false story.  “Mother helped me to see that it was a very selfish wish on my part.  The Subject wasn’t really in love with me, she just thought she was because I helped her during her recovery process.  I had to let her go so that she could truly start living her new life as a Daughter of Ashora.”

“Precisely!” said Supervisor Four.  She smiled at him approvingly.

Agent Eleven didn’t add what else Mother had said.  She had made it clear that when the time came for him to settle down and give her granddaughters, she expected him to do it with a _real_ Ashoran woman from one of the other families of the Inner Circle.  The Inner Circle controlled the Foundationist Party and a lot of other things on Ashora, and Mother intended that even her granddaughters through the male line would be part of it.

Agent Eleven acted sad but resigned.  “As long as Subject Twenty-Three is happy,” he said, “that’s all that really matters to me.”

“Oh, she is!” said the Supervisor.  “She graduated from medical school at the top of her class.  She has a wonderful life ahead of her!  And that’s partly thanks to you, Agent Eleven.  You helped her to escape her dreadful patriarchal past – one of the most horrific in the records of the Program, and that’s saying a lot!”

“So,” he asked, “how long has she been living in Ashora City?”

“About a month,” said the Supervisor.

Agent Eleven felt shocked, and let a little of that show.

“As I told you,” said Supervisor Four, “I didn’t want to upset you unnecessarily.  Ashora City has ten million inhabitants.  The probability that you would run into her by chance was remote.  And we’ve had agents working on trying to get her to move back out.”  Supervisor Four sighed.  “However,” she said, “Subject Twenty-Six’s case is proving to be full of unfortunate coincidences.  You see, she and Subject Twenty-Three have already met.  They were on the same evaluation team at the Bureau of Liberation.”

Now Agent Eleven was certain the shock had to be showing.  That was definitely another example of Supervisor Four’s incompetence.  She should certainly have been able to prevent two Program Subjects from serving on the same evaluation team!

“You see why I decided it would be best to inform you of this – extra wrinkle.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Agent Eleven.  Naturally, he said nothing else.

“But,” she continued, “back to the matter at hand.  Where is the wild male at present?”

“He’s locked in the Subject’s bedroom,” said Agent Eleven.

“Good,” said the Supervisor.  “See that he remains there.  I’ll join you at the Subject’s residence in about half an hour.”  Supervisor Four glanced at a read-out.  “The team from Euthanasia House should arrive shortly thereafter.  We need to ensure they’re in and out before the Subject returns home.  If she came home while the Euthanasia team was there, that would greatly complicate matters!  We may have to cook up a delaying tactic to make certain she stays away.  Let me check her location…”

Supervisor Four glanced at a data display – and frowned.  She began scrolling more frantically.  After a few moments of this she cried, “I don’t understand it!  Subject Twenty-Six has disappeared!”

Agent Eleven frowned in puzzlement.  “You said she was heading toward Great Park.”

“She was before!  But we’ve lost her signal!”

Agent Eleven began walking toward the spare room.  The holographic window trailed behind him.  He stepped into the room and checked one of the bureaus.  “I think I know what happened, Supervisor.  When the Subject was preparing to leave, she was so rattled she almost walked out of the house with no clothes on.  I reminded her to get dressed, but I see her spare data-wristlet is still here.”

Supervisor Four was looking a bit rattled herself.  “How could you have allowed her to leave the house without her data-wristlet?” she demanded.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am.  I have no excuse.  I simply didn’t notice she wasn’t wearing it.”  Agent Eleven expected to receive another jolt of pain through his Collar, but apparently Supervisor Four was too wrapped up in her worries to bother.

“Without her data-wristlet to amplify it,” said the Supervisor, “the homing signal from her neural implants won’t show up on our scans!  We won’t be able to monitor her location!”

“Not as long as she’s actually at Great Park,” said Agent Eleven.  “But once she gets back into her ground car to come home, her personal car electronics will amplify the signal again and it’ll show back up.  So we’ll at least have that much warning.”

Supervisor Four’s jaw firmed.  “There’s no time to waste,” she said.  “That wild male has to go!”


	6. Even If I Die Tomorrow

Jamora sat on a park bench with her eyes closed, trying to not to think about anything.  Trying just to absorb the warmth of the sun, the soft feel of the air, and the rain-like sound of the breeze stirring the trees.  She could hear birdsong, too, and the splashing of a fountain, and occasionally, in the distance, the sound of children playing.

Her stomach had quieted down, and her headache had finally almost faded.  But though she was trying hard to relax, something inside seemed to keep prodding at her.  As if there was something urgent that needed doing.

She opened her eyes and took in the scene before her.  She was looking across a small lake, with a spurting fountain in the center.  A group of blue-feathered aquatic birds were wading near the shore.  On the other side of the lake, she could see part of Ashora Government House rising above the trees.  The sun glinted off the many golden Horn Totems on the building’s roof.

The portion of the structure that was visible from this spot was very familiar to Jamora, because it contained the Bureau of Defense, where she worked.  But it represented only a tiny fraction of the building.  Government House included all the departments of the Federal Government, along with the High Council Chamber, the Office of the High Priestess, the Bull Dancing Courts, the Founder’s Memorial, and the Ashoran Stargate Facility.  Government House was an enormous, labyrinthine complex that sprawled over many city blocks.  It was the heart of Ashora City.  It was really the heart of the whole Ashoran Federation, because it was here, very close to where she was sitting, that the Founders had first landed on Ashora and set about creating the perfect matriarchal society.

Jamora remembered having lunch at this spot a couple of weeks ago.  She had sat on this same park bench eating a sandwich roll, feeling proud and happy about her work.  She was making real progress at last, instead of just struggling to settle in.  It was so good to finally feel she was making a contribution!  To feel that she was truly participating in Ashora’s noble struggle against the evil Goa’uld and all the awful patriarchal societies out there.

She had started in her job at the Bureau of Defense only four months previously.  That was because her amnesia included a partial loss of her _general_ memories – her knowledge of things like physics and mathematics.  During the special classes she had taken as part of her rehabilitation, some things had seemed familiar, while others had seemed quite new.  The re-learning process had often been exciting, but it had also been frustrating, when she stopped to consider how much she had lost!

Jamora suddenly felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

If she weren’t truly an Ashoran – if she actually came from a less scientifically advanced society – wouldn’t that be the way things would seem?  Come to think of it – didn’t most of the science that had seemed familiar correspond to Level IV technology?  The level she had concluded that Smoke’s people were at?

Jamora got up from the bench and began walking rapidly along the path, but she was barely aware of where she was going, or what her surroundings were.  She was thinking about her background – her supposed life story.  Her parents and grandparents were dead, and she was an only child.  And both her parents had been only children, too, so that meant no aunts, uncles, or cousins.  And her only close friend – fairly close, anyway – was Neshi.

Supposedly, for the previous ten years, she’d spent most of her time off-world as part of a small research team that investigated Ancient ruins.  All her teammates had been killed in the attack by the Atrosians.  Her doctors had arranged her current job at the Bureau of Defense, saying it suited her talents and personality.  And it did feel right.  But since it was a new job, her coworkers didn’t know her.

So – no family other than her husband, and only one friend.  The house-servants had claimed to recognize her, but they were chattel-males who could be forced to say anything.  Wasn’t that a suspiciously small number of people who could personally vouch for her Ashoran identity?

She should have thought of all this before!  But, she realized, she just hadn’t wanted to.  She’d been so desperately unwilling to lose her identity all over again.  And it wasn’t as if any of this constituted conclusive evidence.  Her head began to throb again.

Jamora’s mouth tightened.  She was tired of this!  She wasn’t going to give in to the confusion anymore.  If Smoke’s story were true, there had to be some objective proof somewhere.  Jamora found Smoke’s words coming back to her:  _“…you’re the scientist.  I know you’ll figure out how to determine the truth.  When you’re ready.”_

And as she remembered his words, her mind was filled with recollections of last night’s passion.  The feel of Smoke’s body against hers, and inside hers.  The look in his dark eyes; the sound of his voice.  The idea that Smoke was a psychopath was suddenly completely unbelievable.  But that was just a feeling!  She needed proof!

Jamora stopped walking.  The sound of children’s voices made her tune into her surroundings again.  She was in front of the playground.  As she took in the scene before her, she found she was getting that same sense of strangeness and unfamiliarity that she had felt so often when she first got out of the hospital.  It once again struck her as odd that the playground contained twice as many girls as boys.  That was partly because of the policy of adopting Liberated girls into Ashoran families, and partly because some Ashoran women chose to give birth only to girls.  After all, Ashora could always get all the males it needed from off-world.  Due to the rise of the Charitist movement, however, the practice of aborting male fetuses had declined, so the sex ratio was no longer as skewed as it had once been.

Jamora’s eyes were drawn to a very handsome male, who was buying treats from a vending machine for the three children who were gathered around him.  He was a chattel-concubine.  She could see the Red Pendant on his Black Collar.  But even without that, his status would have been obvious.  He wore the black loin-cloth of a chattel-male, but it was sown with jewels.  Jeweled embroidery covered his groin, and more jewels dripped from the hem of his loin-cloth.  As for the jewelry on his upper body, the sun glancing off all that gold was enough to hurt her eyes.

The institution of chattel-concubine was very important to Ashoran society.  After all, the mates of the Founders had all been concubines, because there hadn’t been any Sons of Ashora at first.  And – as was evidenced by the sex ratio on the playground – Sons of Ashora were still in short supply.  Many women didn’t have a husband; they only had a concubine.  Or more than one.  The Law allowed up to three.  Some women had a husband _and_ a concubine or two.  Sons of Ashora might be scarce, but chattel-males were plentiful.

Jamora wondered why her mind was dwelling on concubines.  Was it because of Smoke?

She watched a couple of women eying the handsome concubine.  They were smiling and obviously talking about him.  But, of course, they would never approach him or speak to him.  An Ashoran woman didn’t speak directly to another woman’s concubine without that woman’s express permission.  It just wasn’t done.  It was a prosecutable offense, in fact.  And permission was usually only given to close family members.

Suddenly, it all hit Jamora between the eyes.  Of course!  Smoke’s companion!  Smoke had said the other male knew her, too.  But the other male had never seen her – not on Ashora, anyway.  Nor had he been in contact with Smoke since she and Smoke had interacted.  Therefore, if Smoke’s companion were to recognize her and tell the same story, that would constitute independent verification!

Goddess, it was so obvious.  In fact, hadn’t Smoke himself suggested it?  That showed how much her mind had been fighting itself!  But there _was_ a good reason why talking to Smoke’s companion wasn’t really an option.  He was now another woman’s concubine!

Jamora bit her lip.  She didn’t actually need to speak to the male, did she?  All she needed was to observe his reactions to her and listen to what he said.  Nevertheless, to approach a woman she knew only slightly and ask for access to her concubine would seem very odd.  What reason could she give?

_Why not just tell her the truth?_ she thought.  That would mean letting Ashasti know about her condition, and Jamora would have tried to keep that confidential even if Dr. Lishet hadn’t recommended it.  She didn’t like the idea of being looked upon with pity.  Nevertheless, she had a good feeling about Ashasti.  Jamora raised her arm, intending to use her data-wristlet to call Ashasti – and realized her data-wristlet wasn’t there.  She had forgotten it!

_And_ _that means they can’t trace my location,_ she suddenly thought.

Jamora frowned.  Where had that paranoid thought come from?  It was true that if she used her neural implants to plug into the communications grid and make a call, her location would become traceable.  But why did that make her feel so uneasy?  The conspirators – if they existed – were just trying to help her.  Weren’t they?  After all, there was a whole Government department devoted to resettling Rescued women and aiding their assimilation into Ashoran society.  What other motive could anyone have for trying to hide her true identity?  Jamora couldn’t imagine one.  Still – perhaps it was best to be cautious.

_Wait a minute,_ she thought.  _Ashasti lives right here within Great Park._ Jamora had found that out when she and Ashasti and Ifefal had lunched together one day at the Bureau of Liberation, and Ashasti’s husband Neralo had joined them.  He had walked over to Government House from home.  Jamora remembered being surprised to learn that Ashasti was so wealthy.  Only the very rich could afford to live in the exclusive residential enclaves that dotted Great Park.

_Ashasti’s home is within walking distance!_ she thought.

Jamora found herself moving down the path again.  She needed to go and meet Smoke’s companion _right now_.  She needed to settle these questions once and for all!  But could she just knock on Ashasti’s door and ask for access to Ashasti’s concubine?  Ashasti wouldn’t even be home now; she’d be at work.

Jamora’s eyes narrowed in thought.  A plan was rapidly forming in her mind.

*****

Daniel scooped another shovel-full of manure from the cart and spread it around the base of the bush, the way Black Hands had taught him.  He was sweating.  The sun felt hot on his bare back.  Still – he didn’t mind the exercise.  And he’d gotten so used to the smell he almost didn’t notice anymore.

When Neralo had informed Daniel that he’d found a job for him, Daniel had been quite apprehensive.  But shoveling fertilizer in the courtyard garden wasn’t so bad.  It might be smelly, but he’d always enjoyed working outdoors and digging in the dirt.  He’d rather be digging for artifacts, of course, but he’d hoped that working with Black Hands, the chattel-male head gardener, would give him an opportunity to dig for more information about Ashora.

Unfortunately, Black Hands hadn’t been very friendly.  Daniel was dismayed.  Was he going to get the cold shoulder from other chattel-males, too?  In addition to hostility from Sons of Ashora and disdain from Daughters?  Even Ashasti was proving to be rather indifferent to her new chattel-concubine.  Neralo had been correct in predicting that Daniel would spend the rest of the evening alone.  And this morning, Daniel had gotten only a brief goodbye from Ashasti before she went off to work – not even in person, but through a holographic “window” that had appeared in the wall of his room.

Given the whole “concubine” situation, Daniel felt mostly relieved that Ashasti was neglecting him.  But there was also a part of him that felt a little abandoned.  He knew that didn’t really make sense, but growing up as an orphan had made him irrationally vulnerable to those sorts of feelings.  Not that he ever allowed them to get the better of him.  He was perfectly able to go it alone.  Hadn’t he proved that to himself many times?

Daniel worked on in silence.  He was so absorbed in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice when Black Hands came up beside him.  “All right, then,” said Black Hands, “time for a break.  Master Neralo is always telling me to make sure no one gets too thirsty.  ‘Dehydrated,’ as he calls it.”

Daniel straightened and looked at Black Hands, who was holding out a bottle.  “Thanks,” said Daniel.  He took the bottle and drank.  The liquid was cool and faintly citrus-flavored.  Daniel thought it was probably something like Gatorade.

Black Hands stood beside Daniel and drank from a similar bottle.  Daniel surmised he’d gotten his name because he worked as a gardener.  His hands weren’t really black.  He had light brown skin, curly black hair, and an aquiline nose.  Daniel thought it likely his ancestors had come from somewhere in the Middle East.

Black Hands lowered his bottle and gave Daniel a thoughtful look.  “You seem a decent fellow,” he said.  “It’s good to see a Red-Tag doing some honest work instead of shirking and whining and putting on airs.”

Daniel gave a small smile.  “Well,” he said, “all us chattel-males are basically in the same boat, aren’t we?”

After that, Black Hands loosened up.  And once he decided to start talking, Daniel didn’t need to prod him much.  Black Hands told Daniel all about Jumper, the young chattel-male who had been an under-gardener in Black Hands’ former household until “he caught Mistress’s eye.  She picked him to Serve her, then made him her concubine.  Oh, he got uppity then.  Wouldn’t have nothing to do with us Black-Tags anymore.  Even complained to Mistress about me and got me Punished.  Didn’t take much to get Punished in that household.  Mistress was a Scrupulist.”

“Scrupulist?” asked Daniel.

“That’s what the really strict Foundationists call themselves.  The ones that think males get treated too soft nowadays.  They call themselves that ‘cause they say they’re ‘scrupulous’ about following the Law of Ashora.”  Black Hands shook his head.  “But they’re no true Ashorans.  The spirit of the All-Mother isn’t in them.  What mother would treat her children the way my old Mistress treated us?  Even Jumper got no joy from her in the end.”

Black Hands went on the recount how his “old Mistress” had tired of Jumper and demoted him back to being an ordinary chattel-male.  So Jumper had found himself once again working and living alongside the men he’d treated so poorly.  _Oops!_

“You should thank the Goddess,” continued Black Hands, “that you’ve got Mistress Ashasti for your Keeper, and not someone like my old Mistress.  Mistress Ashasti is a Charitist.  It’s her that taught me the true, loving nature of the Goddess.  And now, Mistress Ashasti is sponsoring me to get my Golden Collar.”

Black Hands’ new-found devotion to the Goddess seemed to be genuine.  As Daniel listened to him talk, it became clear that for him – a man from a medieval sort of world – the high-tech marvels and comforts of Ashora were magical.  He might be a slave, but he had plenty to eat, didn’t have to worry about war or disease, wasn’t worked too hard, and could generally avoid Punishment just by following orders.  By the harsh standards of his home world, being a chattel-male on Ashora was a pretty cushy life.  But it was the kindness he’d received in Ashasti’s household that had convinced Black Hands to give his allegiance to the Great Goddess.

“So,” said Daniel, “you’re going to become a Son of Ashora?”

“If the Goddess wills I pass the tests.  Mistress Ashasti has promised I can keep my job here, only I’ll get paid for it.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows.  “That’s very generous of her.”  Daniel had to wonder how many other women would be willing to sponsor a man to get his Golden Collar when it meant paying him wages for his work instead of just room and board.  He asked Black Hands about that, and learned that ordinary chattel-males seldom graduated to a Golden Collar.  Usually, only chattel-concubines made that leap, and they often had to wait until their daughters grew old enough to sponsor them.

“You’re a very lucky man, Blue Star,” said Black Hands.  “There’s a Golden Collar in your future, I don’t doubt.”  He shook his head, giving Daniel a rueful look.  “And you’ll earn it by Serving Mistress Ashasti, who’s beautiful as well as kind.  There’s many a man here that’s tried to catch her eye, you can be sure of that, but Mistress Ashasti only had eyes for Master Neralo.  ‘Till you came along.”  He shook his head again.  “You’re a very lucky man,” he repeated.

Daniel had to wonder if Black Hands had been one of those trying to catch Ashasti’s eye.  And he couldn’t help thinking about Neralo’s position.  How would it feel to know the house was full of men who were all trying to climb higher in Ashoran society by seducing his wife?  Despite what Neralo had done to him last night, Daniel had to feel a little sorry for the man.

And for all Sons of Ashora, apparently.  Daniel asked Black Hands a few more questions, and learned that a Son of Ashora couldn’t sue for divorce just because his wife took a lover, or a concubine – or even another husband, which was also allowed by Ashoran law.  Evidently, a Son of Ashora’s rights to initiate divorce were very limited.  On the other hand, a Daughter of Ashora could initiate divorce quite easily.  And all that was on top of the fact that a wife controlled her husband’s Collar!

“How do you feel about that, Black Hands?” asked Daniel.  “If you marry, you’ll have to take orders from your wife.  And if she sleeps with another man, you’ll have no right to protest.”

Black Hands shrugged.  “Where I come from,” he said, “some men have more than one wife.  The women don’t like that, but they have to live with it.  Guess I could, too.  At least, as a Son of Ashora, I’ll get to pick who I marry.  I can’t be married off unless I say ‘yes.’ ”  Black Hands turned to Daniel.  A thoughtful look had come into his eyes.  “That’s more rights than women had on my world, and it never bothered me none.  So I guess I can’t complain now.”

Daniel’s brow furrowed as he scooped more fertilizer.  It occurred to him that he’d been feeling morally superior to the Ashorans because of the way they treated men – yet there were nations on Earth where women had fewer rights than a Son of Ashora.  All the conservative Muslim countries were like that.  Women could be married off by their fathers without their consent, and had very little power to initiate a divorce.  On the other hand, a man could divorce his wife just by saying “I divorce you” three times, and the man always got sole custody of the children.  And Islamic law allowed a man up to four wives, plus an unlimited number of concubines.  What was worse, it was legal for a husband to beat his wife if she displeased him.  And a father or husband could kill a woman with impunity if he felt she had dishonored the family.

Normally, Daniel didn’t think of himself as having any connection with such practices – but getting a taste of how it felt to be the “inferior sex” was making him think about it a little harder.  Western nations might not treat women that way, but they certainly maintained friendly relations with some countries that did.

*****

Jack was worried.  Sam had been gone for far too long.

He was examining the bedroom door again.  It had a handle, but no visible locking mechanism.  It also had no hinges for him to try to remove.  It opened on a kind of flap.  Now that the door was closed, only a faint crease marked were the flap was.  And even on the other sides, the seam was so tight it was barely visible.

Okay.  Time to try the old kick-down-the-door routine.  Jack gathered himself to attack the door – and suddenly experienced a jolt of pain.  He tried to wince as the Collar zapped him, and he tried to say, _“Ow!”_ as he fell limply to the floor and bumped his head, but he couldn’t.  He was paralyzed.

Jack lay there helplessly, remembering what Sam had said about how the Collar was programmed to “watch” its wearer.  It must be monitoring signals within his brain!  Apparently, it could detect his intention to commit an act of violence, and stop him _before_ he acted.  _Oy._ Not fair.  Not fair at all.

To his considerable relief, the Collar decided to release him after a few minutes.  He really hated being so helpless.  He felt extremely tempted to try to rip the Collar off – even if that meant ripping leads out of his own brain – but he knew that even if it were physically possible, the Collar’s automatic safeguards would prevent it.

Jack had already explored the bedroom and adjoining bathroom while waiting for Sam to return, but now he began to go over everything again.  There didn’t seem to be any exits other than the one door.  The coral reef “window” apparently emanated from a smooth wall, but Jack checked once more, carefully feeling for seams or openings behind the illusion.  When he didn’t find anything, he began pulling on the doors of the bureaus and cabinets again, though they all seemed to be locked.

Then he came to the rumpled bed … and stopped.  Sam’s discarded clothes were still tangled in the bed sheets.  Jack had already put his clothes back on, such as they were.  Nothing but a little black loin-cloth – which Sam had torn off him last night!  He stared at the evidence of their passion for a moment.  He had trouble believing it had really happened.  After a year of not seeing Sam at all – and fearing he’d never see her again – last night was like a dream.

_But it wasn’t,_ he thought.  _Even if I die tomorrow – or ten minutes from now – at least I had that._

Jack sighed and continued looking for… whatever.  Anything useful.  A potential weapon, maybe.  _Yeah, right._   _I won’t be playing soldier as long as this damn Collar is on me._  He needed to get Sam to turn it off.

_Sam_.  Where was she?  What had they done to her?  Jack felt a bubble of panic forming at the bottom of his mind, threatening to boil up and fill his consciousness.  With practiced discipline, he forced the fear to dissipate, leaving his mind cold and clear.

He continued examining the room.  When he touched a black rectangle that sat on one of the bureaus, a holographic projection appeared.  It showed Sam!   _With her arm around a handsome, dark-skinned man._   Jack scowled.  The man wore a Collar, too, but it was gold instead of black.  He and Sam were both wearing red Ashoran clothes and a lot of jewelry.  Their eyes were made up in a style that reminded Jack of the Goa’uld, except there were lines of golden dots above their eyebrows.  Sam also had spirals of golden dots on the areoles of her bare breasts, and her nipples were painted red.  Jack found that disturbing.  It was kind of sexy, but it wasn’t Sam.  And how come Sam looked so young?

_Faked_ , he thought.  The holograph was faked.  It was all part of the elaborate hoax these Ashorans had been playing on Sam.  The dark-skinned man was probably the turd who’d been pretending to be Sam’s husband.  The one Sam seemed so attached to …

Jack scowled harder.  _I’m not jealous,_ he told himself.  Yeah, right.  So maybe he was – a little.  But mostly, he just felt outraged that this bastard had wormed his way into Sam’s bed on false pretenses.

Why had the Ashorans gone to so much trouble to make Sam believe she was one of them?  What did they hope to gain?  If he knew the answer, he’d have a much better idea of how much danger Sam was in.  How much they were both in.  Jack understood why Sam had gone off like that, but he wished to God she hadn’t.  Letting these Ashorans know she was on to them was unwise.

Jack entered the walk-in closet.  Skirts and wide-legged pants and jackets and topless tops were neatly hung inside.  Alien clothes – but they belonged to Sam.  He could smell her on them.  Burying his face against one of the skirts, Jack took a deep whiff.  His mind filled with powerful memories – sensations and emotions from last night, and from years past as well.

He smiled as he remembered the first time he’d ever seen Sam.  She’d been so prickly, so ready to believe he wouldn’t take her seriously just because she was a woman.  She’d even made that funny speech about reproductive organs – which wasn’t like her, really.  Did he dare believe that meeting him had thrown her off balance?  Meeting her had certainly thrown _him_.  She’d looked so hot in those dress blues, but he wasn’t supposed to think that.

At first, he’d told himself the attraction was just a natural reaction to her beauty.  Just male hormones kicking in.  So what?  He couldn’t let that get in the way of the mission.  At the time, he still hadn’t been over Sara.  But the more he’d gotten to know Sam, the deeper the attraction had grown.  When had he realized he was madly in love with her?  It was difficult to pinpoint, since he’d tried so hard to deny it.

It had taken him even longer to realize that Sam returned his love.  He still had trouble believing that.  He was no prize, especially not for a woman as young, beautiful, and brilliant as her.  But, for some strange reason, she seemed to like him.  He smiled softly, remembering last night.

Then he shook himself.  _Okay, Jack.  Enough reminiscing.  Focus._

The clothes hangers where made of a rubbery plastic – not any good for trying to pry the door open or attack anybody.  Well, he could always throw shoes at the enemy.  _Not._   The Collar wouldn’t let him, would it?

How did that work, anyway?  How had the Collar known he was going to attack the door?  It wasn’t as if it could actually read his mind.  From what Sam had said, he got the impression the Collar interfaced with the wearer’s brain in only a few limited ways.  And the brain was such a complex thing.  Jack was no neurophysiologist, but he knew more about a lot of things than he usually let on.  The Collar had to be looking at neurons firing or brain chemicals changing in particular regions of the brain.  But how did it distinguish between a slave wanting to break down a door to escape, and a slave doing something like, say, tearing down a wall when his owner wanted her house remodeled?

Jack left the closet.  He positioned himself in front of the bedroom door and stared at it.  He was _not_ going to _attack_ the door.  Nope!  He had absolutely nothing against that door.  He was just _working_ on getting it open.  After all, that was what doors were supposed to do.  They were supposed to open!

When Jack felt himself to be in the right frame of mind, he made another attempt to kick down the door.  The good news was that the Collar didn’t go off.  The bad news was that the door didn’t budge.  After several solid kicks, all he’d gotten for his trouble were the jarring jolts that traveled up his spine and made his skull vibrate when his shoe hit the door’s unyielding surface.

Jack glared at the door.  He felt aggrieved.  Why the hell would anybody put such a strong door within an ordinary residence?  As soon as he thought the question, of course, he realized the answer.  This was a society with lots of male slaves running around inside people’s houses.  That door had probably been designed to present a formidable barrier to anyone who lacked neural implants.  Quite well designed, it seemed.

That was when Jack heard something.  He put his ear to the door.  Yep.  Somebody was coming.  And it sounded like more than one person.

Jack flattened himself against the wall beside the door.  _Maybe I’ll be able to slip out behind them,_ he thought.  But it was not to be.  Jack felt his body go limp again.  He slid down to the floor.  He really hated this paralysis crap.

The door opened, and several people came in.  “There he is,” said a woman.  There were three women and three men, who all turned and looked at him.  Sam was not among them.

The woman who’d spoken was wearing a dark grey uniform, while the other two women wore colorful, topless outfits.  Jack recognized one of the men as the one who’d been in the holograph with Sam.  The other two men had black loin-cloths and Black Collars.

The older of the two non-uniformed women looked at the men in Black Collars and said, “Take him away.”

The woman in the grey uniform gave her an indignant look.  “My chattel-males are not yours to command.”

“Your pardon, sister,” said the older woman.  “It’s just that time is of the essence.  It’s best if we remove the male before Jamora returns.”

_Uh-oh,_ thought Jack.  _Not good._ But he couldn’t do anything.  He couldn’t move anything except his eyes.

The uniformed woman looked unhappy.  “This is extremely irregular.  Do you really expect me to take a woman’s concubine away to be euthanized without her consent?”

_Euthanized?!_ thought Jack.

“I expect you to obey the law!” snapped the older woman.  “I’ve shown you my authorization.  Jamora is under psychiatric supervision, and this male is a grave danger to her mental health.”

Jack began concentrating on the index finger of this right hand.  He’d fallen on his side, with his arm bent in front of him.  He focused all his will power on that one finger, and tried to move it.  One small twitch for a man, one giant itch scratched for mankind….  _Come on, Jack,_ he told himself.  _You can do it.  You fooled the Collar before, you can beat it now._

 “I know it’s irregular,” said the third woman.  She was thirty-five or so, and had black hair.  “But Jamora’s case is quite unusual.  I’ve been her psychiatrist for almost a year, and Dr. Sishesiv has been in overall charge of her medical treatment.  Believe me, Dr. Sishesiv and I are in full agreement on this.  And as you saw, we are legally empowered to make decisions on Jamora’s behalf when required to protect her health.  Jamora’s judgment has been impaired by her condition.”

 “We’re wasting time,” said the older woman, her voice waspish.  “You’ve seen our authorization.  Now, do your duty.”

_It’s no good_ , thought Jack.  His finger hadn’t moved at all.  The paralysis was too damn complete.

Jack looked up at his would-be executioners.  The woman in the grey uniform was frowning.  The older woman looked irritated, while her companion looked worried.  The men in Black Collars just stood there stolidly, obviously waiting for orders.  Jack met the eyes of the third man, Sam’s “husband.”  His gaze was oddly sympathetic.

That was when Jack felt himself losing consciousness.  He tried to fight it, but….


	7. No One Coming Back for Him

The sign read, “Blessed Dance Estate.”  Yes, this was it.  This was Ashasti’s residence.

The sign was a discrete brass plaque next to a white door in a vine-covered wall.  Above the sign were the controls for a holographic intercom.

Jamora took a deep breath.  She had decided her best bet was to keep her story simple and close to the truth.  Since Ashasti and Neralo were Charitists, Jamora was hoping Neralo would take a generous attitude toward her rather impertinent request.

She rang the intercom.  A holographic window opened in the door, revealing a male wearing a Black Collar and Black Pendant.  She announced herself and asked to speak to Neralo.  After a moment, Neralo’s face appeared in the window, looking a little puzzled.

“Hello, Neralo!” said Jamora, with strained brightness.  “Do you remember me?  I’m one of Ashasti’s colleagues.”

“Of course I remember, Jamora.  What can I do for you?”

“Forgive me for coming by unannounced, but I happened to be walking along this path and saw the sign and realized this is Ashasti’s house, and, well… I know this is an imposition, but there’s something that’s really been bothering me and I was hoping you could help.  I realize I should just call Ashasti about it, but I forgot my data-wristlet today,” she said, holding up her bare forearm, “and I would _very much_ like to just get this matter resolved.  It’s really weighing on my mind.  Could I possibly have a few moments of your time?”  Jamora gave him a nervous smile, letting her embarrassed desperation show.

Neralo’s expression became sympathetic.  “Think nothing of it.  I’ll be down to open the door for you myself.”

The holographic window blinked out, and Jamora felt a wave of mingled relief and apprehension.  Hopefully, she would be meeting Smoke’s companion soon.  And then she would know for certain whether she was really the Ashoran she thought she was – or someone else entirely.  A woman from a patriarchal world!  Her stomach was doing somersaults.

After a few moments, the white door opened.  Neralo greeted her with a smile and waved her in.  She nervously followed him through a small courtyard and into the house.  A short corridor led to the airy openness of a three-story atrium.  It was decorated in the modern style, with curvilinear furniture and animated wall patterns.  One whole wall was transparent, revealing a large inner courtyard.  Neralo led her toward a conversation area with a central fireplace.

“Please,” he said, “make yourself comfortable.  Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” said Jamora, seating herself on a curved couch.  She gave Neralo another nervous smile.  “Hopefully, this won’t take long.”

Neralo seated himself across from her.  “How can I help you?” he asked.

Jamora bit her lip.  “I’m afraid this is a little awkward.  You see, it’s about my new concubine.  When I worked with Ashasti at the Bureau of Liberation, our team evaluated two males who were captured together, and obviously knew each other.  I Claimed one of them as my concubine, while Ashasti Claimed the other.”

A shadow passed over Neralo’s face.  “Yes,” he said, his voice colorless.

_Is he jealous?_ thought Jamora.  Redeemed males weren’t supposed to get jealous, but Neralo struck her as unusually assertive for an Ashoran male.  She had planned to make him feel worried about Ashasti’s concubine.  If he were jealous, too, all the better.  She was hoping to prompt Neralo to act on his own, without involving Ashasti.  If he called Ashasti at work, he would surely ask Jamora to speak to her as well.  And that would put Jamora on the communications grid.  There was something inside her, some innate sense of caution, that warned her against that.  It somehow seemed important to elude the conspiracy’s surveillance.  _Though you don’t even know if the conspiracy really exists_ , she reminded herself.

Jamora looked Neralo in the eye and began spinning her story.  “My concubine has told me some things that I find very disturbing.  I’m not sure how much to believe him – you know how wild males lie.  But some of what he told me involves his companion.  If you would be willing to ask this other male some questions for me, it would help me figure out if my concubine is lying.”  Jamora gave him a pleading look.  “I know it’s impolite of me to ask, but if what he says is true, I think Ashasti would want to know as well.”

Neralo frowned.  “What’s your concubine saying?”

“He confessed to having done some terrible things to women in the past.  Which isn’t too surprising, coming from a patriarchal male.  But he says he never really liked the rapes and beatings.  He says he had to do those things to maintain his status within the patriarchy, but his companion is the one who put him up to them.  He claims his companion likes to smooth-talk his way into a woman’s confidence, and then turn on her.”

Neralo was looking alarmed.

“Of course,” she continued, “that’s not what their psych profiles suggested.  Neither of their profiles was very good, but my concubine’s was supposedly the worst.  Yet he seems very sincere.  I’m trying to figure out if he really is.”

“The male’s psych profile was bad?” cried Neralo.  “I mean – the one Ashasti Claimed?  Ashasti didn’t tell me that!”

Jamora shrugged.  “Yes,” she said.  “I suppose Ashasti and I both took a risk.  Perhaps it was unwise.”  She leaned forward.  “What do you say, Neralo?  Would you be willing to ask Ashasti’s concubine some questions for me?  It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

Neralo looked very tense.  “I find your story deeply disturbing.  I definitely feel we should investigate.”  Then he stared down at his hands, and his shoulders slumped.  “But I don’t think I should take it upon myself to do it,” he said.  “I feel Ashasti needs to be involved.  For me to do it just wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh, for Goddess’s sake, Neralo,” said a female voice.  “Just ask the woman’s questions for her!  If you won’t, I will.”

Startled, Jamora looked around and found that a slim redhead was standing near them.  Neralo looked startled, too.  They had both been so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed the woman’s arrival.

Neralo stood up and gave the redhead an annoyed look.  Then he turned to Jamora and said, “I’m sorry.  I have to apologize for my sister, Nara.  She has an unfortunate habit of butting into other people’s business.”

The redhead put her hands on her hips and glared at her brother.  Her green eyes blazed.  “It’s my business, too!  You’re my twin, and Ashasti is my sister-in-law.  Don’t I have a right to be concerned about your happiness?”  She looked at Jamora.  “Sorry, but I happened to overhear, and I think it’s obvious we need to investigate your concerns right now.  If this turns out to be true, I don’t think Ashasti would want this male in her household a moment longer.  I think she would return him to the Bureau right away.”  She looked at her brother and raised an eyebrow.  “Don’t you think so, Neralo?”

Neralo’s jaw worked.  “Maybe,” he said, his voice soft.  He looked down, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“Blue Star is in the courtyard, isn’t he?” asked Nara.

Neralo nodded shortly.

Nara looked at Jamora and smiled.  “Okay, then.  Let’s go find him.”  With that, she turned on her heel and headed toward the transparent wall.  Jamora and Neralo followed her through a door, and out into the courtyard.

“Blue Star should be working in the northeast flower beds,” said Neralo.

“Thank you for doing this,” said Jamora.  “Thank you both.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Nara.

Jamora began following Nara and Neralo down a path, her heart hammering.  Soon, she would know for sure.  If the other male confirmed Smoke’s story, she would have to take Nara and Neralo into her confidence.  If he didn’t, she would make it clear to them that her concubine was lying.  That would remove any onus from the other male.  Her stomach lurched as she imagined how it would feel to find out that Smoke _was_ lying.  That he was a psychopath after all….

They crossed an open area full of fountains, and then headed between some trees.  The path curved, and they came into a garden full of moon-flower bushes and the unpleasant smell of fresh fertilizer.  Jamora spotted Smoke’s companion.  He was working with a shovel, looking down at the earth with a distracted expression.  Another chattel-male was standing near him.

Then Smoke’s companion looked up and saw them.  His mouth fell open as he laid eyes on her.  He dropped the shovel.  “Sam!” he cried, his voice full of astonished joy.  “ _Sam!_ ”

Jamora closed her eyes.  The world seemed to stand still, and then pivot around this moment and turn upside-down.  It was true.  Smoke’s story was true.  She wasn’t an Ashoran.  And somehow, she wasn’t really surprised.

She opened her eyes and found Smoke’s companion heading toward her, his arms out-stretched, grinning madly.  She was reminded of Smoke’s initial reaction to her – and she remembered, with guilt, the way she had shut him down.  She hadn’t wanted to believe him.  She hadn’t been ready.

Nara and Neralo were watching the male’s behavior with puzzled alarm.  “Hold it right there!” said Neralo.  “What do you think you’re doing?”

Smoke’s companion stopped and looked briefly toward Neralo, then back at her.  “Tell them, Sam,” he said.  “Tell them who I am.”

Jamora almost laughed at the irony.  “This is a man from my home world,” she said.  “I know that for sure, now.  Even though I don’t remember him.”  She studied his handsome face, trying to pull it from the depths of her mind by sheer will-power.  But it remained the face of a stranger.

He was gazing at her with confusion, now.  And so were Nara and Neralo.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the two siblings.  “I haven’t been entirely honest with you.  But when you know everything, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

She looked toward Smoke’s companion again, finding his blue eyes full of sympathy.  It was strange.  She didn’t remember him – and yet, wasn’t there something about him that made her feel curiously at ease?  “Before I tell my story,” she said to him, “why don’t you tell us yours?”

“Hey!” cried Neralo, and Jamora stopped, flushing as she realized she had spoken directly to another woman’s concubine.  And then she thought, _So what?_   _I’m not Ashoran.  The Ashorans have been deceiving me all along._

She looked at Neralo, her mouth tight.  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but you see, I need this man to tell me who I am.”

Neralo looked more confused than ever.

Smoke’s companion gazed into her eyes, his brow scrunching up with concern.  “Your name is Samantha Carter,” he said.  “You come from a planet called Earth, and you’re a military officer.  You’re also a scientist.  You have a doctorate in astrophysics.  You and I worked together on a team that explores new planets through the Stargate.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Neralo.

“Let him finish,” said Nara.

“Thank you,” said Smoke’s companion.  He smiled at Nara.  “By the way,” he told her, “my name is Daniel Jackson.”  Nara smiled back at him.  Neralo gave his sister a perplexed look, obviously wondering why she didn’t tell him that Daniel was no longer his name.

Jamora/Sam suddenly remembered the other chattel-male.  He was still standing there, taking everything in with a puzzled expression.  She looked at Nara and Neralo.  “Please,” she said, “I’d like to keep all this as confidential as possible.”  She sent a significant glance toward the black-haired chattel-male.

“Neralo,” said Nara, “shouldn’t Black Hands be tending to the _southwest_ garden right about now?”  Neralo threw his sister a mutinous look, but gave the chattel-male instructions to that effect.

After the other chattel-male had left, Jamora/Sam met Daniel’s eyes expectantly.  His expression grew somber.  “About a year ago,” he said, “you were kidnapped during one of our missions.  We were investigating some Ancient ruins.  You and Teal’c were examining a device in one building, while Jack and I looked at some inscriptions in another.  You and Teal’c were attacked by people who had Goa’uld weapons.  Teal’c was badly injured.  You were apparently knocked out with a zat gun and carried away through the Stargate.  We didn’t see the attackers leave, and had no idea who they were or where they took you.  So we couldn’t go after you.”

His brow scrunched further.  “You really don’t remember any of this?”

She shook her head in answer.

“A few days ago,” he continued, “we finally found out who had kidnapped you.  A group of Atrosians came through the same Stargate, and we were able to take them prisoner and interrogate them.  We went to Atrosia to try to track you down, and that’s where Jack and I were captured by the Ashorans.  Jack is the leader of our team, by the way.  We need to locate him.”

Jamora/Sam’s lips quirked.  “I already have.  And your story does match his exactly.  Not that I really had any doubts left.”

She began telling her story.  How she had woken up in the hospital eleven months ago, with no memories except a few broken recollections of her abuse at the hands of the Atrosians.  What her doctors had told her about her identity and background.  Her recovery process.  Living with her “husband” Lagash.  And then, meeting Smoke.  _Jack._   How he had insisted that he knew her.  The growth of her suspicions, and how they had led her here, to this courtyard.  To the proof that Jack had told her the truth.

When she finished speaking, there was silence.

Then Daniel said, “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through, Sam.  But we’ve found you now.  We’re together again.  We’ll get things straightened out.”

Jamora/Sam looked at him. _We’re together again_ , he’d said.  As if that solved everything.  As if he had any power to solve anything, when he was only a chattel-male!  _Stop it,_ she told herself. _You have to stop thinking like an Ashoran_.  _Your name is Sam, and you come from Earth._   But the trouble was, she still didn’t know who Sam was.  Not truly.  Could she go back to living Sam’s life?  Did she really want to?  And even if she did, would the Ashorans let her?

Daniel’s gaze caught at her heart.  His blue eyes were so full of empathy, so suggestive of a shared past she couldn’t remember.  She found herself smiling at him through tears.

“Goddess!” exclaimed Nara.  “Somebody went to an great deal of trouble to deceive you.  It’s got to be the Government.  They’re behind all this.”

Neralo frowned.  “It seems someone felt it would be to your benefit to give you an Ashoran identity.  To help compensate for your amnesia, and make it easier for you to recover from the terrible crimes of the Atrosians.”

“We don’t know that,” said Nara, her voice sharp.  “We can’t be sure what the Foundationists are up to here.”

Neralo sighed.  “Nara,” he said, “this is no time for your conspiracy theories.”

“ _My_ conspiracy theories?” she asked, her voice indignant.  She held an arm out toward Sam.  “This woman is the victim of an elaborate conspiracy to make her believe she’s someone she’s not.  Did I make that up?”

“You’re twisting this around, Nara!  They were just trying to help her!”

“Were they?” asked Nara, her voice full of frustration.  “When are you going to realize that the Foundationists have secrets, Neralo?  _Big_ secrets.  Why do you think I lost my post at the university?”

Her brother gave her a long-suffering look.  “Because,” he said, “you started spouting outlandish theories about the Founders and convinced everybody that you’re a nut-case.”

Sam noticed Daniel giving Nara a deeply sympathetic look.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, brother,” said Nara, “but I’m not crazy.  Or stupid.  I have good reasons for believing the Foundationists are keeping things from us.  I’m telling you, there’s something more going on here.  Something deeper than just helping a Rescued woman adjust to Ashoran society.”

Neralo sighed.  “Well, whatever the case may be, we need to tell Ashasti about all this.”

“No!” said Nara.  “That’s a bad idea!”

“Why?” cried Neralo, obviously exasperated.  “Don’t you think Ashasti would want to help this woman?”

“I’m sure she would,” said Nara.  “But Ashasti is too strait-laced.  She’d probably insist on going through official channels.  And that would be a disaster!  The conspirators already know that Jamora is suspicious about her identity.  If they realized Jamora – I mean Sam – has proof that they’ve deceived her, who knows what they’d do?  We could all be in danger!”

“In danger?” asked Neralo, raising his eyebrows.  “Are you implying that the sinister Government conspiracy might try to kill us or something?”

“Yes!” yelled Nara.  “I am!”

“Oh, Goddess, Nara!  Now you’ve lost it completely.”

But Sam felt fear strike a cold blow to her heart.  “I have to go,” she said.  She barely got the words out.  Suddenly, she was so afraid she almost couldn’t breathe.

Daniel met her eyes, and she somehow knew he shared her thoughts.  “If Nara is right,” he said, “if the Government has a lot at stake here…”

“I have to go,” Sam repeated, trying to get her panic under control.  “Jack…”  Sam felt a rush of shame as she remembered how she’d left Jack locked in her bedroom, Collared and defenseless.  And she’d told Lagash about Jack!  She’d let the conspirators know that Jack was undermining their plot!  Sam felt the blood drain from her face.

“Jamora,” said Neralo, “your concubine is probably perfectly safe.”  He gave his sister a glare.  “Nara has a very active imagination.  Don’t let her theories upset you.”

“My name isn’t Jamora,” she said to him.  “It’s Sam.  And I’d like you to promise me you won’t tell anyone else about this until I contact you again tomorrow.  Please.  Will you keep this to yourself for that long?”

Neralo frowned.  “Ashasti is my wife.  I shouldn’t keep things from her.”

“Neralo,” said Nara, “if you’re right, and this is all just an attempt to assist a Rescued woman, what will it hurt to hold off telling Ashasti for a day?  But if I’m right, then Ashasti is probably safer not knowing.  And by tomorrow, things should be a little clearer.”

Neralo scowled at his sister, then looked into Sam’s frightened face.  He sighed.  “All right,” he said.  “I’ll keep this to myself for now.  I’ll wait to hear from you.  But only till the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” said Sam, her tone fervent.  “Thank you both for everything.”

“I’ll see you again soon, Sam,” said Daniel.  “With Jack.”  But he looked worried.

*****

The drive from Great Park to her house took only 15 minutes, but Sam was trying to make it less.

She had run all the way back to her car, and then realized that the car’s traffic-interface electronics would put her on the Ashoran Net as soon as she got in.  She’d considered disabling the automatic interface so the conspirators wouldn’t know she was on her way back, but hadn’t wanted to take the time.  She also hadn’t wanted to provide definite evidence that she was no longer fooled.  If Nara was right, that would push the conspirators into panic mode.

Sam’s mind was whirling as she drove.  Maybe she was overreacting.  Maybe, as Neralo had suggested, the conspiracy was basically benign.  But she couldn’t bear the thought that Jack might be in danger because of her.  Because she had believed the conspirators’ lies, instead of believing in him!  She needed to see Jack’s face again.  She had never wanted anything so badly in her life.

She reached her driveway at last.  She jumped out of the car and ran to her door.  As soon as she entered the house, she yelled for Lagash and used her neural implants to page his Collar.  She walked quickly through the entrance hallway, and into her living room … and stopped.

There were three people in her living room.  When she entered, they rose from their chairs and looked at her.  They had obviously been waiting for her.

Sam felt her guts turn inside-out.

Lagash was one of them.  The second was Dr. Lishet, her psychiatrist.  And the third was Dr. Sishesiv, a medical bureaucrat whom she’d met only a few times before.

“Jamora,” said Dr. Lishet.  “Please sit down.  We have something very important to discuss with you.”  Lishet was using her professional voice, calm and reassuring.  And she had her professional face on, too, but Sam could tell she was worried.  Lagash’s face was more expressionless than she’d ever seen it, but she thought there was a shadow of grief there.  Dr. Sishesiv was wearing a pompous look of doctor-like concern.  Sam didn’t know her very well, but Sishesiv had never made a good impression.

Sam swallowed, and remained standing.  Anger helped her get her fear under control.  “Where’s Smoke?” she demanded.

“That’s what we’d like to discuss with you, Mora,” said Dr. Lishet.  “Please sit down.”

Sam glared at Lagash.  She felt herself flushing with fury – at Lagash, and at herself.  Lagash didn’t try to dodge her eyes.  There was pain in his.

“You mustn’t blame Lagash,” said Dr. Lishet.  “He contacted us out of concern for you.  Dr. Sishesiv and I are the ones who decided on this action.”

“We have a responsibility to protect you, Jamora,” said Dr. Sishesiv.

A wave of panic washed through Sam.  “What have you done?” she asked, the words barely getting out through her constricted throat.  “Where’s Smoke?”  She began walking toward the stairs.

“Mora,” said Dr. Lishet, her voice gentle, “Smoke isn’t in your bedroom anymore.  He isn’t in this house.”

Sam froze.  Her heart gave a painful throb, then seemed to stop.  She turned and looked at Dr. Lishet, her eyes wide.

“Please, Mora,” she said.  “Sit down so we can talk about it.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” said Sam, her voice rough with fear and anger.  “I want to know what you’ve done with my concubine.”

“Jamora,” said Dr. Sishesiv, “you Claimed a male that was evaluated as Unredeemable.  Obviously, that wasn’t a rational decision.  Your mind still hasn’t recovered from the trauma you suffered.  And the Unredeemable male was trying to undermine your mental stability even further!  We had to take action.  You’re under psychiatric supervision, Jamora.  We have a legal duty to protect you.”

_No._   Sam had thought they couldn’t legally take Jack away from her, but it seemed she’d been wrong.  “Where is he?” she asked.  Lishet and Sishesiv exchanged looks.  “ _Just tell me!”_ she cried, her voice rising to a shout.

Dr. Sishesiv frowned.  It was Dr. Lishet who spoke.  “Mora,” she said, “you know that Smoke was recommended for termination.  For your protection, we arranged for his original disposition to be reinstated.  On an expedited basis.  It has been carried out.”

Sam stared at Lishet.  Even though she’d been half-expecting it, she didn’t feel quite able to take it in.  There was a kind of roaring in her ears.

“I know this will come as something of a shock.  But believe me, Mora, it’s for the best.  In time, you’ll come to appreciate that.”

Lishet’s voice seemed distant and irrelevant.  Sam found herself sitting down after all.  Her knees just gave out.  She felt numb.

The room receded, and for a moment Sam’s mind was full of jumbled impressions of Jack.  His face, his voice.  The touch of his firm body and long, gentle fingers.  The powerful magic of their night together.  The confusion and anguish of their confrontation this morning.  Only hours ago!  She had been with him less than 24 hours!

_No, that isn’t true,_ she thought.  _I knew him for years._ She could feel the emotional weight of those years deep inside herself, but she couldn’t _see_ them.  All those memories were gone.

And now, Jack was gone.  He was dead and gone.

Sam’s mind went blank.  A dark space opened up inside her, as vast and empty as the space between the stars.

“… so don’t worry, Mora.  You’ll get over this.  Sooner than you think.”

Dr. Lishet’s voice shouldn’t have mattered, but her words reached Sam in the void.  They ignited a spark of outrage that brought her back.

She looked at Dr. Lishet’s face, and it was full of gentle sympathy.  As it had been so often before, during all their sessions together, when Sam had poured out her hurts and frustrations.  She had liked and trusted Lishet.  She had been a fool.

Her gaze went to Lagash.  Her “husband.”  The person she had trusted more than anyone else.  His face was a mask, but she saw guilt in his eyes.  _Yes_ , she thought.  _You_ are _guilty._

“We have only your best interests at heart, Jamora,” said Dr. Sishesiv.

Sam took in Dr. Sishesiv’s authoritative air and thought, _She’s the leader_.  _She’s the head of the conspiracy.  She’s the one who gave the order to have Jack killed._

A cold wind swept through Sam.  It filled her body with energy, and her mind with a strange, merciless light.

She realized that Dr. Sishesiv should die.  And the wonderful thing was that she suddenly knew she could make that happen.  She could kill Sishesiv with her bare hands!  She knew how!  The skills were there inside her.

Sam stood up and took a step toward Sishesiv, and something must have shown in her eyes, because Sishesiv tried to take a step back.  Her legs bumped clumsily into the chair she had been sitting in while she waited for Sam to come home.  While she waited to tell Sam that Jack was dead.

Suddenly, Sam’s path was blocked by a large, male body.  Lagash was standing in her way.  She looked up at him.  This was the man who’d made her believe he was her husband.  She’d had sex with him, and thought it felt good.  Her cold rage turned even icier.

Lagash’s eyes held too much understanding.  _He knows I’m on to them,_ she realized.  He’d always been too damn good at reading her.

He was a big, strong man – but she could take him.  Ashoran men didn’t know how to fight.  _Wait,_ she thought.  _There’s a better way._   If she used his Collar to incapacitate Lagash, that would enable her to get Sishesiv for sure.  She thought she could get Lishet, too, though she wouldn’t have much time.  Both women would use their neural implants to send a distress call.  The police – or perhaps some more shadowy group – would be at the house within minutes.

Sam sent the Paralysis command to Lagash’s Collar – and nothing happened.  He didn’t crumple to the floor.  _So_ , thought Sam, _that was a lie, too_.  She didn’t control Lagash’s Collar.  But Lagash’s eyes flickered with awareness, and Sam realized his Collar was rigged to inform him of the commands she sent.  He knew she was trying to Paralyze him!

Sam’s body tensed to attack – but Lagash said, “I adore you, Mora.”  His eyes pleaded with her.  They glistened with tears.

The words hit Sam like a blow to the gut – because that was one of their special phrases.  That was part of the secret language they had developed during the early part of her recovery process, when she had struggled to get through ordinary tasks, like shopping for groceries, without revealing her amnesia to others.  Lagash had accompanied her almost everywhere, and they had developed a series of code phrases so that Lagash could guide her without appearing to do so.

_“I adore you, Mora.”_   That was a warning that she was about to commit a major faux pas, and needed to start following his lead.  Hearing Lagash speak those words, and seeing the look of empathy in his expressive eyes, brought back memories of all the times she had depended on him.  Of the trust, gratitude, and affection she had so foolishly given him – even after Jack had given her reason to know better.  Her rage faltered as pain and guilt washed over her.  If only her judgment had been better, Jack might not be dead.

And then, a thought went through her like an electric shock:  _Jack is dead, but Daniel is still alive!_

Sam fell back into her chair again as she realized that killing Sishesiv – or even all three of these people – wouldn’t protect Daniel.  The conspiracy was bigger than that.  Murdering them right here and now wouldn’t remove the danger.  It would only get her arrested and classified as a dangerous lunatic – or possibly cause her to vanish at the hands of the conspirators.  Either way, she’d be in no position to help Daniel.  And she couldn’t let him down, the way she’d let Jack down.  She couldn’t.

Sam shuddered.  She had almost made another horrible mistake.

With relief, she remembered that the conspirators wouldn’t be able to trace her visit to Ashasti’s house.  They wouldn’t know that she had contacted Daniel.  She silently thanked her subconscious mind for making her forget her data-wristlet.  Her subconscious had been way ahead of her conscious mind all along.

Lagash had knelt down before her.  Now, he laid his hand over hers.  She snatched it away and hugged herself.  She looked down at Lagash’s face, her vision blurred by tears, and saw that Lagash was crying, too.

“Mora,” he said, his voice broken with emotion, “please forgive me.  Everything I’ve done, I did for you.  I only wanted to make you happy.  I’m just a male, but I do the best I can.”

Sam felt her guts twist.  She knew what he was trying to say to her.  He was trying to make her believe that he truly did care about her, and regretted what had happened to Jack.  He was trying to tell her that he was on her side, but because he was only a male he didn’t have much power.  She looked into his eyes, and his distress seemed so real…

_No,_ she thought, sudden anger stabbing her heart.  She wasn’t going to let him draw her in again.  She would never trust him again.  And yet – even though he knew she was no longer fooled, he seemed to be keeping that from the others.

“Please, Mora, let me help you through this.  I’m here for you.”

_“I’m here for you”_ was another code phrase.  Once again, he was asking her to follow his lead.

“That male was bad for you,” he went on.  “He was Unredeemable.  You can’t trust anything he told you!  Listen to Dr. Lishet and Dr. Sishesiv.  They’re your Ashoran sisters.  They want you to finish your recovery process, so that you can go back to being the woman you used to be.  When you’re truly well again, Mora, no wild male will have the power to upset you like this!”

_Oh,_ thought Sam, _you’re good._   He was telling her to start pretending that she still believed their lies, and was willing to accept what they had done to Jack.  Although Sam didn’t fully trust Lagash, she realized that was good advice.  She needed to lull the conspirators into thinking that everything was back on track.  The more secure they felt, the safer Daniel would be.

Daniel would be harder for them to harm than Jack had been.  He was the concubine of a wealthy Charitist.  There was no way they could get to him legally, and trying to murder him might be sticky.  If she made the conspirators believe she still thought of herself as Jamora, maybe they wouldn’t consider it necessary to go after Daniel.  After all, as far as they knew, Daniel had never seen her.  But there was no guarantee.  Daniel wouldn’t be truly safe until she’d gotten him back to Earth.

Sam forced herself to uncross her arms and reach for Lagash’s hand.  “I know you love me, Lagash,” she said.  “It’s just that this is all such a shock.”  The words tasted bitter.

“We know that, Mora,” said Lishet.  “And we wish there had been an easier way.  But, believe me, this is for the best.  Now your life can get back to normal.”

Sam didn’t trust herself to look at Lishet.  She was afraid of what might show in her face.  So, she kept her gaze on Lagash, and saw her anger mirrored in his eyes.  What was he up to?  Where did he stand?

_Okay, Lagash,_ she thought.  _I’ll play along.  I’ll pretend I’ve been sucked in again.  And_ _after these two lying bitches have left, I’ll listen to your explanations._ She would get as much information out of Lagash as she could.  The more she knew about the conspirators, the safer Daniel would be.  _But if you think I’ll ever really trust you again,_ she thought, _you’re the one who needs psychiatric help._

She had to play a careful game.  The only person she could fully trust was Daniel.  Even Nara and Neralo had to be dealt with cautiously.  After all, what did she really know about them?

She glanced at the two women in the room, and steeled herself to put on an act.  She had to convince them that she still believed their lies.  It would be hard, because she hated them so much.  But she would do it.  She had to, for Daniel’s sake.

She would make the conspirators think they still had her fooled.  She would learn as much as she could from Lagash.  And she would figure out how to get Daniel home.  The Ashoran Stargate was heavily guarded, but she would find a way.

Once Daniel was safely back on Earth, she would be free.  Free to go after the conspirators.  Not just one or two, but all of them.

She would destroy them all.

*****

Jack became aware that he was lying on a cold, hard, rough surface and staring at a grey wall.  He sat up and blinked, trying to clear the cotton balls out of his head.

Hadn’t he just done this whole waking-up-woozy thing?  Only the walls had been white, hadn’t they?  And more upscale-looking?

The white cell.  Daniel.  Sam.  Sam’s arms, Sam’s bed.  Being left in Sam’s bedroom.  Lying there paralyzed while people talked about having him “euthanized.”

Right.  _That._   Suddenly feeling a lot more alert, Jack sprang to his feet and quickly scanned his surroundings.

He was in a small, rectangular cell.  The floor, walls, and ceiling were some sort of grey concrete – except when he turned around.  That side of the cell consisted of your classic, vertical prison bars.

A woman stood on the other side of bars, watching him.  She stood back far enough to be out of reach.  She was short, stout, and blond, and she wore a dark grey uniform.  It was like the uniform worn by the woman he’d seen in Sam’s bedroom.

The Stumpy Blond ran her eyes down his body and leered.  Jack felt a wave of annoyed embarrassment as he realized he was now completely naked.  Even the little black loin-cloth was gone.  But he quickly buried the feeling.

“So,” asked Jack, “what’s going on?  Hope you’re not planning on killing me, ‘cause I’ve got my DVR set to record _The Simpsons_ while I’m gone.  Lots of episodes waiting to be watched.”

The blond looked a little perplexed at this speech, but then gave him a nasty grin.  “Actually,” she said, “I’ve already killed you, and I’ve cremated your body, too.  I filled out the forms myself, all nice and neat.  Officially, you’re nothing but a little pile of ash.  Oh, and a Retrieved Collar, of course.”

Jack’s hands flew to his neck – but the Collar was still there.  He tugged at it and gave Stumpy Blond a look.  “Retrieved Collar, you say?”

“Not really yours, of course.  A substitute.  Programmed with your serial number.”  She pointed at his Collar.  “Meanwhile, your Collar is no longer in the Government’s system.  It’s been re-programmed.  By us.”

Jack raised his eyebrows.  It didn’t sound like they were going to kill him, so things were looking up.  Weren’t they?  Somehow, this whole situation was giving him a very bad feeling.  “Who’s ‘us’?” he asked.

That was when his body went limp, and he crumpled to the floor.  _Paralyzed again!  Crap!_

Stumpy Blond studied him for a moment, and checked a small device she held in her hand.

“Oh,” she said, her tone conversational, “we’re just an enterprising group of women.  Out to supply a demand, and make a little profit along the way.”

She released him from Paralysis, and Jack got back on his feet.  He was beginning to feel really annoyed.  “What does that mean?” he snapped.

She gave him another nasty grin.  “It means this is your lucky day, dog!  See, you’re such a mean, mangy male-dog that the High Council thinks you’re good for nothing.  They can’t think of anything to do with you except put you down.”  She grinned wider.  “But the truth is, the High Council are a bunch of prudes with no imagination.  There’s all kinds of interesting things you can do with a male when you don’t have to worry about any pesky Government regulations, or any male-coddling Charitists sticking their noses where they don’t belong.  There’s women out there who’ll pay good money for that kind of flexibility.”  She gave him an exaggerated wink.  “So you get to live, dog!  You get to live and Serve, in some very special ways.”

Okay, this really sucked.  It wasn’t enough that he’d been enslaved.  Now, he had apparently gone from being a regular slave to being an illegal, off-the-books slave. “Are you telling me,” said Jack, “that I’m about to be sold on the Black Market?”

“Nah,” she said.  “Not you.  You’re already spoken for.”

Jack felt the quick stab of pain he had come to recognize as a Warning command.  He grimaced.  “Was it something I said?” he asked.

Stumpy Blond ignored him.  She glanced back down at her hand device.

That was when the Punishment pain hit, filling Jack’s mind with white-hot agony.  The world went away, blocked out by the excruciating torment.

When the Punishment stopped, he found himself curled up on the floor, his muscles in knots.  Jack had to admit the pain inflicted by the Collar was seriously bad – as bad as anything he had ever experienced before.  Maybe worse.  And that was saying a lot.

Jack got back to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster.  “What was that for?” he asked.

Stumpy Blond was looking at her device again.  She glanced up and said, “Nothing.  Just testing the re-programming.”  Her tone was casual.  “Don’t think I’ll check the milder Punishment settings, though.  Where you’re going, they never get used anyway.”  She grinned at him, as if she’d said something funny.

Oh, yeah.  She was a laugh a minute.  Jack opened his mouth to say something to that effect – but then his mouth just stayed open.  What the _hell_ was going on down there?  He did NOT find this woman attractive!

Stumpy Blond stared at Jack’s erection and gave him another leer.  “Not bad,” she said.

Jack’s brows drew down, and he actually felt himself blushing.  His body had gone AWOL!  And then he realized – it wasn’t him.  She was doing it through the Collar.

Jack felt a rush of anger and unease.  The unpleasant implications buzzed around in his mind.  If these women could use the Collar to control his sexual responses, that meant…

_Crap._   The pressure in his groin was building.  _NO_ , he thought.  _I am NOT going to …_

“Ahh!”  Jack cried out involuntarily as an intense orgasm shuddered through him.  He clapped his palms to his forehead, and closed his eyes.

Stumpy Blond chuckled.  “You liked that part, didn’t you?”

Jack dropped his hands and looked at her.  He had his emotions under control again, but there was a slow, burning anger deep inside him.  “No,” he said.  “I didn’t.  But that’s nothing new for you, is it?”

Her eyes narrowed.  “Oh, you _are_ an insolent dog, aren’t you?  Just the kind Umala loves bringing to heel.  Maybe I’ll come visit you in a month or two.  Maybe I’ll let you beg to Serve me then.”

“Maybe pigs will fly,” said Jack.

She smiled, and her eyes gleamed with malice.  “Stupid dog.  You’re just like all the others that go to the Arena.  Stupid, aggressive, fighting dogs.  You all bluster and bark.  But we’ll train you to obey, dog.  Because you’re our property, now.”  She grinned.  “Did you think that little taste of Punishment was bad?  Imagine how it would feel to be Punished like that for hours – or even days.  You see, we’ve disabled all the safety protocols in your Collar.  There are no rules now, no limits.”  She sneered.  “I know you think you’re tough, dog.  Arena dogs always do.  But you’ll learn to do absolutely anything you’re told.  Just like all the others.”

Jack looked at Stumpy Blond, and knew she wasn’t bluffing.  He was in deep trouble.  He’d fallen into the hands of criminals, and the Collar made him almost helpless.

If Sam had any clue he was being held prisoner, she’d come after him.  He was certain of that.  Amnesia or not, she would never leave him behind.  But they had faked his death!  Sam would think he was already dead!

And that meant there’d be no one coming back for him.


	8. Our Little Counter-Conspiracy

“Jack is dead.  They took him away to Euthanasia House and killed him.”  Sam’s voice sounded dead, too. Her great, blue eyes stared unseeingly.

“No!” cried Daniel.  He couldn’t believe it.  Even though he’d spent a sleepless night worrying about Jack and Sam.  Even though the worry had quickly escalated to dread when Sam returned alone, and he saw the expression on her face.  He’d listened with growing anxiety as Sam told him, Nara, and Neralo about the people she’d found waiting for her when she got home.  But he couldn’t believe that Jack was dead.  Jack had survived so much.

“Are you certain?” he had to ask.  “Do you have proof?”

Sam looked at him.  “I checked the official records on the Net.  While Lishet and Sishesiv were still there.  And I called Euthanasia House to double-check.  I even …”  Her voice caught, and she swallowed.  “I asked to see his body, but they said he’d already been cremated.  They said it’s standard procedure.”  Her face hardened, and she was no longer looking at Daniel.  She was staring through him, and even in his current state of shock Daniel felt alarmed at the bleak fury in her gaze.

_God,_ he thought.  _What she must be feeling…_

Daniel was sitting near Sam on one of the curved couches in Ashasti’s conversation area.  He shifted closer and put his arms around her.  He felt a shudder pass through Sam’s body, and then her arms went around him, too.  She clutched him very tightly, and he heard a low sob escape her.  The sound, and the warm solidity of her body in his arms, brought home the reality of the situation.  Daniel felt his throat close up.  Tears stung his eyes as he struggled with a tremendous, hollow feeling of loss.

Jack gone?  It couldn’t be.  Daniel had always thought he’d be the one to go, not Jack.  Jack was the perfect soldier.  Even on that first mission to Abydos, with grief and despair clinging to him, he’d been so tough and fearless.  He’d struck Daniel as almost larger-than-life – an archetypal alpha male.  The sort of unassailably strong, macho guy every boy longed to be when he grew up.  Even nerdy, unconventional boys like Daniel.

As he’d gotten to know Jack, Daniel had learned the strength was no illusion.  But he’d also learned there was a lot more to Jack than that tough-guy façade suggested.  Jack was a truly amazing man.  And an amazing friend.

He just couldn’t be gone.

Daniel took a ragged breath and blinked his tears away.  Sam’s sobs had subsided, but she was still clinging to him.  As he rested his cheek against the top of her head, his eyes fell on Nara and Neralo watching them from the other side of the conversation area.  Their faces were full of distress.

_What do we do now?_ he thought.  _What would Jack want us to do?_   The answer was obvious:  complete the mission and go home.  Well, the mission had already succeeded.  Against all odds, they’d found Sam.  _But now Jack is gone,_ he thought.  _And I still don’t know what happened to Teal’c.  Sam and I may be all that’s left of SG-1._ The thought hit him like a kick in the gut.  He closed his eyes, and tightened his arms around Sam.

After a moment, he gathered his resolve and gently pulled back from her.  Putting his hands on her shoulders, he said, “I’m here for you, Sam.  At least the two of us are still together.  Jack would want us to … carry on.”  He’d almost said that Jack would want them to get safely back to Earth, before he remembered that Nara and Neralo were present.  He wasn’t quite sure how they’d react to that idea.

Sam met his eyes, then looked over at the Ashorans, and Daniel knew she was thinking the same thing.  Could they get Nara and Neralo to help them escape from Ashora?  Did they even dare ask?

Neralo said, “I’m deeply sorry, Jamora – I mean Sam.  Esestia is a disgrace to the Goddess.  She sends several males to Euthanasia House every month, even though that’s supposed to be only for psychopaths.  Ashasti has filed more than one complaint against her, but Esestia has a lot of political pull.  The Board always sides with her.”

“Of course it does,” said Nara, her voice grim.  “The Board Members are all Scrupulists, just like she is.  The Bureau of Liberation is crawling with them.”  She gave Sam and Daniel a devastated look.  “I’m so sorry.  This is awful.  Our Government is responsible for yet another innocent death.”

Sam wiped her eyes and fixed Nara and Neralo with a resolute gaze.  “Yes,” she said, “I’ve learned the Ashoran Government has a great deal to answer for.  You see, with Lagash’s help, I convinced Lishet and Sishesiv that they still had me fooled and got them to leave.  Then I had a long talk with Lagash, who’s had second thoughts about the role he’s been playing.  We talked pretty much all night, and he told me all about the secret Government program that he and the others work for.  It’s called the New Start Program.  And the reason I have amnesia is because they deliberately erased my mind.”  Sam’s mouth twisted.  “Except for a few memories of being raped and beaten by the Atrosians, of course.  They took my identity away from me, but left that.”

Neralo looked shocked.  Nara seemed appalled, but not surprised.  Daniel was outraged.  “They _erased_ your memory?!” he cried.

“But,” said Neralo, “that’s impossible!  We don’t have the technology to erase people’s memories.”

“The conspirators do,” said Sam.  “but they’re keeping it secret.  They developed the technology as part of the New Start Program.  Supposedly, the idea is to erase the memories of Rescued women and give them Ashoran identities so they can start over fresh, without the burden of their painful pasts.”

“Okay,” said Neralo.  “That makes a certain amount of sense.  Sounds like the Government was trying to help you, even though things went horribly wrong with your concubine.  That was Esestia’s fault, not these people’s.  Since only vicious criminals are supposed to be recommended for termination, you can’t blame them for thinking this male represented a threat to you.”

Daniel couldn’t believe Neralo’s reaction.  “Didn’t you hear what Sam just said?” he asked.  “These people deliberately erased her memories!  They stole her life!  You call that ‘helping’?”

Neralo gave Daniel a hard look, and said, “No doubt you find it difficult to believe that Jamora – I mean Sam – preferred to forget her life on your patriarchal world.”

Daniel felt his jaw dropping in amazed exasperation, but Sam responded before he could.

“No, Neralo,” she said.  “I feel certain I didn’t consent to having my memory erased.  Because even though I can’t actually remember anything, I have … _feelings_ about things.  Impressions.”  She glanced at Daniel.  “It’s hard to explain, but I _feel_ that Daniel is my friend and colleague.  And my _equal_.  I trust him.  And the things I felt about Jack ….” Her voice trailed off, and she gazed into the middle distance, transfixed by something no one else could see.  Then her face crumpled and she looked down, hugging herself.  “My subconscious has been trying to tell me things all along,” she said, her voice subdued and full of regret.  “I should have listened better.”

“Neralo,” said Daniel, “I know you’ve been taught to believe that all societies except Ashora’s are oppressive toward women, but it isn’t true.  Sam and I come from a society that believes in respecting the rights of men and women equally.  The only patriarchal abuse Sam has ever suffered has come from other societies.  Like the Atrosians.  And your Government left _those_ memories intact!”

Neralo frowned.  “I don’t understand that part.”

Nara sighed.  “There’s a lot you refuse to understand, brother.  It’s obvious to me this whole notion of aiding Rescued women is a smokescreen.  Does it make sense the Government would go to that much trouble and expense just to help a few refugees?  There has to be a hidden agenda.”

Daniel traded looks with Sam.  It was evident that Nara was already on their side.

“Lagash thinks the same thing, Nara,” said Sam.  “He says that for a long time, he believed what he’d been told about the purpose of the Program.  He believed he was helping women who had been horribly abused.  But he started having doubts, especially after he was assigned to my case.  If the purpose of the Program were really to relieve the suffering of its Subjects, what sense did it make to leave my memories of abuse intact?  Lagash says he tried to protest about that, but it just got him Punished by his supervisor.”

“Punished?” said Neralo, looking perplexed.  “You mean his supervisor in the Program is his Guardian?”

“Not really,” said Sam.  “His true Guardian is his mother, but she delegates control of his Collar to whoever is his superior in the Program.”

Nara looked disgusted.  “What sort of mother would cede control of her son’s Collar to some bureaucrat?”

Sam’s mouth tightened.  “High Councilor Merena,” she said.

“ _What?_ ” cried Neralo.

“Lagash’s true name is Ilesh Son-of-Merena.  The High Councilor is his mother.  And she’s also one of the chief architects of the New Start Program.  It’s connected to the most powerful women in the Foundationist Party.  Lagash says he now believes the Program has a hidden purpose, which is known only to the people at the very top.  And whatever that purpose is, it’s _extremely_ important to the Foundationists.  He thinks they’d do almost anything to protect the secret.”

“You see?” said Nara to Neralo, her chin raised triumphantly.  “I told you so!  It’s just like I’ve been telling you all these _years_ , Neralo.  The Foundationists are hiding …”  Nara’s sentence trailed off in a gasp, and her eyes went wide.  “That’s it!” she cried, looking around at the others.  “That’s the real purpose of this New Start Program.  It’s an excuse to develop memory erasure technology, so that the Foundationists will have another tool for hiding the Founders’ Secret!”

Neralo put his hand over his eyes and grimaced.  “Nara, please!  Do you have to drag that ‘Founders’ Secret’ business into everything?  Your obsession with the Founders’ Secret has ruined your life!”

Nara jumped to her feet and glared at her brother.  “Goddess, Neralo!” she shouted.  “What does it take to open your eyes?  Haven’t you heard anything Sam said?”

Daniel opened his mouth to ask about the Founders’ Secret.  He was itching to know more.  But he felt Sam place a restraining hand on his arm.

“Neralo,” said Sam, pulling the Ashoran man’s gaze to her, “I understand your reluctance to believe the Government would behave badly toward a Rescued woman like me.  I understand because I lived as an Ashoran for almost a year.  I learned to believe that because Ashora is a matriarchy, it’s better than other societies.  More compassionate, more enlightened, and much less violent.  Isn’t that what all Ashorans are taught?”  Sam’s voice grew hard.  Daniel could hear the anger in it.  “And yet, the Ashoran Government violated my mind and stole my identity.  Do you have any idea how hard it was, to wake up one day without any knowledge of myself?  To struggle to re-build the life I was told I’d had, even though nothing felt right?  Because, of course, it wasn’t really my life at all.  Everyone I trusted was lying to me.  And to keep me from discovering their lies, they murdered the man I loved.”  Sam stopped for a moment, her throat working.  She fixed Neralo with her cobalt eyes.  “And if the New Start Program realizes I’ve seen through them, they’ll erase my memory yet again.  Lagash’s supervisor told him so.  Does that sound like they have my best interests at heart?”

“No,” admitted Neralo, his voice soft.

Sam’s gaze flicked to Nara, then back to Neralo.  “I think your sister is on to something.  If a small group at the top of the Foundationist Party wanted memory erasure technology to help them protect some earth-shattering secret, the New Start Program would be the perfect vehicle for getting it.  They could bring in scientists to develop the technology on the pretext of helping Rescued women, which all Ashorans believe in doing.  Preserving the Rescued women’s new identities would be the excuse for keeping the memory erasure technology secret from the general public.  So the general public would know nothing, and even within the Program, all but a select few would be kept in the dark about the technology’s true purpose – the secret _within_ the secret.”

“That makes sense, Sam,” said Daniel.

“I think it may explain why the Program left some of my memories intact,” said Sam.  “They must be working on developing better control of which memories they erase.  They’re using the women in the Program as guinea pigs.”

Nara sat down again, looking thoughtful.  “Yes,” she said.  “I believe you’re right.  Ultimately, they’d want to be able to manipulate memories so subtly that the victim might not even notice anything was missing.”  Nara pressed her lips together, and looked around at the others.  “I think we’re all in great danger.  If the Foundationists realize how much we know, we’ll end up with our memories erased.  Or dead.”

Neralo frowned at his sister’s words.  He seemed upset and uncertain.

Sam nodded in agreement.  “It’s a good thing I forgot my data-wristlet yesterday.  Otherwise, the Program would have traced my visit here and realized I’ve been in contact with Daniel.  And with the two of you.  Today, I left my data-wristlet in a locker at the Water Gardens, so they’ll think I went swimming.  That’s what I told Lagash.  He doesn’t know about any of you.  I’m not willing to trust him that far.”  She paused, her body tensing.  “But I believe that Daniel’s life is very much at risk anyway.  I think the Program would murder him in a heartbeat, just on the off-chance he might threaten their plans.”

Daniel scrunched his brow and pursed his mouth at this statement.  _Special,_ he thought.  He’d been so busy trying to deal with Jack’s death that he hadn’t thought about his own precarious position.

“We all have to work together to protect ourselves against the conspirators,” said Sam, fixing her gaze on Neralo.  Daniel and Nara focused on him, too.

Neralo frowned and avoided everyone’s expectant looks.  His hands pressed down and clenched the cushion on which he sat, and he rocked back and forth a little, his body rigid with tension.  “All right,” he finally said.  His muscles loosened, and he met Sam’s eyes.  “You’ve convinced me.”  He turned toward his sister and said, “I owe you an apology, Nara.  Looks like you’ve been right all along.  There really _is_ a sinister Government conspiracy.”

Daniel saw Nara’s face crumple with emotion.  Then she smiled a little, and said, “You always were a little slow, brother.”  Her tone was sarcastic, but there were tears in her eyes.

Daniel’s throat tightened in sympathy.  He knew exactly how it felt to finally have your outlandish theories vindicated – to finally be seen as something other than a pathetic crank by people who mattered to you.  At that moment, Nara met his eyes, and something passed between them.

“So,” said Neralo, his voice subdued, “what do we do now?  Do we try to let the public know about the New Start Program?  I mean, once the secret is out, the conspirators won’t have any reason to come after us.  Right?”

“Wrong,” said Sam.  “The conspirators would still have the deeper secret to protect; they’d just feel more desperate about it.  And desperate people are dangerous.  Lagash and I would have to go public to expose the Program, so we’d also expose ourselves.  And that might lead the conspirators to uncover my connection with you, as well.  These people are very powerful.  We wouldn’t know who we could trust, or when or how the cabal might strike at us.  No,” said Sam, looking around at the others, “trying to go public is too risky.  Lagash and I already agreed on that.  Right now, we have the advantage of knowing about the conspirators when they don’t know about us.”

“I have to agree,” said Nara.  “Exposing the New Start Program wouldn’t hurt the Foundationists, because they’d just say the Program exists to help Rescued women.  On the contrary, they’d be able to attack Sam and Lagash for callously destroying the new lives of the Program’s Rescued women.  The Foundationists would make Sam and Lagash look crazy, or evil, or both.”  Nara’s jaw clenched.  “Just like they did to me.”

Looking at Nara and Neralo, Sam said, “I believe our first priority has to be protecting Daniel.  And he won’t be safe until we get him off Ashora.”

“Get _me_ off Ashora?” said Daniel, feeling perplexed at Sam’s phrasing.  “We _both_ need to get home to Earth.”

“Of course,” said Sam, her great eyes blinking.  “That’s what I meant.”

“But,” said Neralo, “Ashora has a strict policy of never allowing Liberated males to go home.  Or even Liberated women.  Because we have to be careful not to give the Goa’uld any clues to Ashora’s existence.”

“That’s not a problem in our case,” said Daniel.  “Earth is under the protection of the Asgard, so the Goa’uld don’t have any direct contact with it.”

“That’s nice,” said Neralo, “but it makes no difference.  No one on Ashora will take the word of a patriarchal male like you, and chattel-males are never freed anyway.”  He looked at Sam.  “The Government won’t allow Daniel to leave, or you either.  And the Stargate is under the tightest security on Ashora.”

Nara looked concerned.  “Neralo is right.  The Stargate is in an underground facility at the Bureau of Liberation, and it’s under heavy guard at all times.”

“I work at the Bureau of Defense, which is right next door,” said Sam.  “And I believe I’ll soon have the help of someone who works at the Bureau of Liberation.”

“Not Ashasti!” cried Nara.  “I told you, she’s too strait-laced.  Even if we convince her the Foundationist conspiracy exists, and even if she doesn’t object to Daniel and Sam leaving Ashora, she’s just not cut out for sneaking around and keeping secrets.”

“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Neralo, turning to his sister.  “You’re not actually planning to keep all this from Ashasti, are you?  I promised not to say anything for a day, and I haven’t.  But we can’t start plotting subversion in my wife’s home without telling her!”

“The hell we can’t!” said Nara.  “If we let Ashasti in on our secret plot, it won’t stay secret for long.  Ashasti would probably insist on going to the Charitist Party with the information.  And even if we convinced her to keep quiet, Ashasti is the worse liar in the world.  One way or another, she’d end up letting the cat out of the bag.  And then _she_ would be in danger, too, Neralo.  Is that what you want?”

Neralo looked highly uncomfortable, but shook his head.

“Besides,” added Nara, her voice softening, “this is your home, too, Neralo.”

“Ashasti isn’t who I had in mind,” said Sam.

Everyone looked at Sam with puzzled expectancy.

“There’s a woman at the Bureau of Liberation who’s a graduate of the New Start Program,” Sam said.  “She’s a former ‘client’ of Lagash’s, and a big part of the reason Lagash has turned against the Program.  You see, Lagash is in love with her.  He wanted to settle down as her husband for real, but the Program wouldn’t permit it.  They faked his death, which is what the Program always does with the identity-therapist ‘husband’ of a Subject once they feel the Subject is ready to live on her own.  So Ifefal believes that he’s dead.”

_“Ifefal?”_ cried Neralo.  “Ifefal is a Rescued woman who had her memory erased?”

“That’s right,” said Sam.  “Lagash wants to get back in touch with her.  He wants both of them to leave Ashora so they can be together.”

“They could come back to Earth with us,” said Daniel.  “I’m sure our Government would give them asylum.”

“Lagash was hoping as much,” said Sam.  “He says he could always tell I wasn’t someone who’d grown up under oppression – unlike some of the other women he’s worked with.  So he believes Ifefal would be safe on Earth.”

“And if Ifefal joins our little counter-conspiracy, we’d have someone on the inside at the Government agency that manages the Stargate,” said Daniel.

Sam gave him a small smile.  “Exactly,” she said.

“Well,” said Nara, “at least that’s a start.  But it isn’t going to be easy, Sam.  You’re talking about getting four people out through the Stargate without authorization, past all the guards and security systems.  Frankly, I don’t see how.”

Daniel looked around him – at Nara with her fierce green eyes, and Neralo with his worried yet stubborn expression.  He was only beginning to know them, and he didn’t know Lagash and Ifefal at all.  Daniel was used to belonging to a small group that was taking on an entire world, but he wasn’t used to _this_ group.  Where was Teal’c’s fathomless strength?  Where was Jack’s fearless energy, steadfast loyalty, and indomitable gall?

_Oh, God – Jack._   Could he really be gone for good?  The thought filled Daniel with renewed anguish.

He looked at the one teammate who was left to him now – the one who had been lost for over a year.  Sam looked so different, with her long, plaited hair and bare-breasted Ashoran clothes.  It occurred to Daniel that maybe he didn’t really know _her_ , either.  Not anymore.  After everything she’d been through, it wouldn’t be surprising if she weren’t quite the same person he remembered.

It was a forlorn thought.

Sam’s mouth tightened.  She turned her wide blue gaze on Nara, then Neralo, then Daniel.  Her chin lifted.  “At this point,” she said, “I don’t see a way to get to the Stargate, either.  But I’m going to find one.”

Daniel suddenly found himself smiling, a feeling of warmth and familiarity washing through him.  “Yes, you will, Sam,” he told her, looking into her eyes.  “I know you will.”


	9. Welcome to the Underworld

Jack awoke with a start, finding himself sitting in a very comfortable chair in a strange, cavernous room.  The last thing he remembered was the tiny grey cell.  The Stumpy Blond had left him there alone for many hours, after providing a bottle of water and a bowl of tasteless gruel.

_Another scene change,_ he thought.  He really hated the way the Ashorans could switch his conscious mind on and off whenever they pleased.  And that was one of the Collar’s _less_ offensive capabilities.

“Remain seated!” warned the man standing in front of him.  The man was naked except for a Black Collar.  His waist-length hair was colored a metallic bronze, and arranged in several plaits bound with strings of black diamonds.  His large, brown eyes were heavily made up with black eyeliner and bronze eye shadow, and there were patterns of little black diamonds pasted in the center of his brow, and at the corners of his eyes.  The man’s pubic hair was metallic bronze, too – and there were dots and swirls of bronze paint on his genitals, stomach, and pecs.  There was also some sort of clear paint all over his olive-skinned body, giving it a subtle sheen that emphasized the contours of his muscles.

Jack was so taken aback by the Bronze Guy’s appearance that he didn’t immediately start trying to stand up – so the big, black guy in the chair to his left beat him to it.  The big guy jumped to his feet – and, with a strangled cry of pain, promptly fell back into his chair.

“I warned you!” said the Bronze Guy.  “Remain in your chairs, or you will be Punished.”

“Fine,” said Jack.  Now that the other guy had confirmed that standing would bring Punishment, he didn’t have to confirm it himself.  He leaned back casually.  The chair seemed to accommodate itself to his body, and had a velvety surface that felt good against his bare behind.  “Nice chair,” he said.  “But does it recline?  Can’t really get comfy unless I put my feet up.”

Even as he spoke, Jack was quickly taking in his surroundings.  The room held ten of the large, luxurious chairs, arranged in a row.  Only two of them were occupied:  the one Jack was sitting in, and the one that held the big guy to his left.  The room wasn’t very deep, but had a high ceiling that slanted up higher toward the back.  The ceiling, the chairs, and most of the walls were garishly decorated, with lots of shiny gold and shimmering, rainbow colors.  The exception was the wall behind the Bronze Guy, which was plain white.

The Bronze Guy wasn’t thrown by Jack’s apparent nonchalance.  “It does recline, actually,” he said.  “That chair does just about everything, from giving massages to mixing drinks.  Just not for you.”  Despite the Bronze Guy’s bizarre get-up, there was something about the way he held himself that Jack found very familiar.  This man was a soldier – or had been.

“What manner of place is this?” cried the big guy on Jack’s left.  Like Jack and the Bronze Guy, he was naked except for a Collar.  He had a physique that reminded Jack of Teal’c.  And there was a certain aura about him that was also reminiscent of Teal’c.  Jack had a feeling this man had military training, too, but of a somewhat different sort.  Not a soldier, but a warrior.

“I know not how I came to be here,” continued the big guy, looking around him with wide-eyed confusion.  “I was on my way to the practice field, to spar with my brother warriors, when I was struck by a strange flash of light.  I awoke in a white room without windows or doors.  I was alone there, but when I awoke again, I was in a grey prison cell, and my jailer was a demon in the shape of a woman.  It cast many spells upon me, tormenting and shaming me.  And then, it sent me here.”

_Yep,_ thought Jack.  _Definitely very Jaffa-like._   And definitely from a low-tech world.  It was clear the poor man had no clue how to interpret what was happening to him.

The big Warrior Guy looked at the Bronze Guy.  “Are you a man, or a demon?” he asked.  A strange expression came over his face.  “Am I dead?” he whispered.  “Is this the Underworld?”

The Bronze Guy gave a bark of humorless laughter.  “That’s right,” he said.  “You’re dead now.  We’re all dead here.  Welcome to the Underworld.”

The Warrior Guy’s eyes bulged, and his mouth slackened in horror.

“He’s lying!” said Jack, his voice snapping with annoyance.  He gave the Bronze Guy a disgusted look, and then turned to the Warrior Guy and told him, “You’re not dead, and this isn’t the Underworld.  It’s just a world that’s ruled by women.  And _that_ ,” he added, gesturing toward the Bronze Guy, “is not a demon.  Though he’s not much of a man, either.”  Turning toward the Bronze Guy, Jack put on a puzzled expression and said, “Where’s your owner, anyway?  How come she let you off your leash?”

The Bronze Guy’s jaw clenched, and pain flashed through his eyes.  Strangely, he didn’t contest Jack’s insult.  He gave a twisted smile and said, “My owner is in the luxury box on the other side of the Arena, along with all the other Trainers.  They’re entertaining an important visitor.  But since no one paid extra for a premium seat today, she thought you two might as well get a ring-side introduction to your new lives.”  With that, the Bronze Guy held up a small device he’d been holding in his hand, and touched a control on it.

The white wall behind him seemed to vanish.

Jack found himself looking out onto the sands of the Arena.  It was maybe twice the size of a boxing ring, but oval in shape.  The sands were surrounded by two-storey walls, and at the top he could see three or four rows of stadium seating filled with women.  Jack was at the same level as the Arena floor, in the middle of one of the long sides.  He realized he was located under the stands, and was looking into the Arena through the now-transparent Arena wall.  The wall was now letting light through, but still blocking sound.  He could see the women in the stands talking and laughing, but couldn’t hear them.

The Arena was indoors.  Above the women’s heads was a ceiling that covered the whole thing.  Bright lights shone down, making the sand of the Arena sparkle.  It was a pale gold color, but had mirror-bright specks mixed in.  Two naked men in Collars were raking the sand.  Like the Bronze Guy, they were all painted up, but the colors and patterns of body paint were different on each man.

Jack couldn’t see the luxury box the Bronze Guy had spoken of.  He wondered if maybe it was behind the white wall on the other side of the Arena.  Maybe both walls could become one-way transparencies, allowing people to look out into the Arena without being seen themselves.

“Is this a place where warriors spar?” asked the Warrior Guy.  He frowned.  “Why is it surrounded by women?  A woman should not enter the Men’s Domain.”

The Bronze Guy snorted.  “Sorry, buddy.  You have now officially entered the Women’s Domain.”

“When are we going to see the boss ladies?” asked Jack.  “Can’t wait to meet your owner.”

The Bronze Guy gave him a weary, defeated look. “Don’t worry.  You’ll meet Elal soon enough.”  He considered Jack for a moment, then said, “You fought with guns back home, didn’t you?  Not swords.”

“Maybe I didn’t fight with anything,” said Jack.  “Maybe I’m a peaceful kind of guy.”

The Bronze Guy laughed at that – a genuine laugh, not a humorless bark like before.  “Yep,” said the Bronze Guy.  “You fought with guns.  People who fight with swords don’t have that kind of attitude.  And don’t worry, you’re not giving anything away.  The Syndicate has all your records.”

Jack was revising his opinion of the Bronze Guy.  He’d thought the man was some kind of ass-kissing collaborator, since he’d been entrusted with chaperoning the new arrivals.  But he was beginning to think the man was just beaten down.  “What syndicate?” asked Jack.  Raising his brows, he gestured toward the Arena.  “And what’s with the whole Coliseum setup?  I thought the Ashorans were totally against men fighting and being mean and all that.”

“Oh, they are,” said the Bronze Guy.  “Male violence is a big no-no.  That’s why the Arena is illegal.  This place is owned and run by a powerful criminal syndicate.”  His mouth twisted.  “Like I said, this is the underworld.  And it’s lucky for you that you know guns instead of swords.  That means Elal will probably be in charge of you, too – which is a hell of a lot better than the alternative, believe me.”

“I am an acknowledged master of the broadsword,” said the Warrior Guy, “though I prefer the battle axe.”

The Bronze Guy’s eyes flicked toward the Warrior Guy, then quickly away again.  Instead of responding, he turned and looked out into the Arena.

Jack saw that the two men who’d been raking the sand had each arrived at one of the narrow ends of the Arena, leaving a pattern of neat striations between them.  Two doors opened in the Arena wall, one near each man.  The men exited in opposite directions, and the doors closed behind them.

“Show’s about to start,” said the Bronze Guy.  “Sit back and enjoy.  ‘Cause the next time you see the Arena, you’ll be in it.”  The Bronze Guy hit another control on his hand device, and the room filled with a hubbub of female voices from the crowd.  The sounds from the Arena were no longer blocked out.

The Bronze Guy walked back and sat in the chair to Jack’s right.

There was a dramatic swell of music, and the lights went out in the Arena.  For a moment, everything was pitch black.  Then spotlight beams lanced down through the darkness, and began to dance across the sand.  Each beam was a different rainbow color, and where it struck the sand, it created a circle of light that scintillated with bright sparks of matching color.

A woman’s amplified voice rang out.  “Welcome, sisters!” it boomed.  “Welcome to the darkness!  Tonight, you will see things that few Ashorans ever witness.  From the safety of your seats, you will sample the unholy chaos of the patriarchal universe.  Prepare yourselves, sisters!  For you are about to come face to face with the drama … and spectacle … of male aggression!”

The music reached a crescendo, and then stopped.  The colored spotlights went away, replaced by one large, white spotlight that moved to the door at the left end of the Arena, and stopped there.  The audience was quiet, their tense excitement almost palpable.

Into the expectant hush dropped Jack’s casually sardonic voice.  “Who writes the speeches around here?” he asked.  “Come on, you couldn’t pack in any more clichés in if you tried.”

The Bronze Guy gave him an exasperated look.  “It’s a good thing that wall only passes sound and light in one direction,” he said, “because Elal wrote that speech.”

The announcer’s voice rang out again.  “Sisters, I give you the champion of the Arena … Sweet Ass!”

Jack’s brows rose. _Sweet Ass?_ he thought. _The gladiator’s name is Sweet Ass?_

The door in the Arena wall opened, and a man stepped into the spotlight.  He was in his twenties, and had the kind of smoldering, male-model good looks you’d expect to see in an ad for men’s underwear.  He was tall and well proportioned, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, but had an unusually prominent butt.  He was, of course, naked except for his Collar.  His waist-length, plaited black hair was streaked with electric blue, and his bright blue eyes were all painted up.  Designs in electric blue and pastel pink were painted on his body in embarrassing places, and there was also a sort of clear glaze all over his skin, the same as on the Bronze Guy.

As soon as he stepped into the Arena, the crowd exploded into cheers and whoops.  And the guy smiled and started waving at them!

The lights came up, and Sweet Ass walked toward the center of the Arena.  He continued smiling and waving as he went.  At one point, he did a complete 360 and blew kisses to the crowd.  The women went wild.

Jack felt his brow furrowing in consternation.  Just what kind of a fight was this?

Sweet Ass stopped at a particularly broad striation in the sand, which was drawn across the Arena about three feet from the center.  Another broad striation paralleled it, located equidistant from the center.

“Tonight,” said the announcer, “Sweet Ass faces a ruthless and cunning opponent.  I give you … Jade Tiger!”

A door opened at the other end of the Arena, and another man stepped out.  He was shorter than Sweet Ass, but broader and more heavily muscled.  He had craggy features and dark skin.  There were green patterns on his body, and his hair was green, too.  He scowled menacingly at the crowd, and they started booing.

Jade Tiger stepped up to the other line in the sand and faced Sweet Ass.  Both men crouched down in preparation, their faces intent and hostile.  At the sound of a horn, they began to wrestle.  Jack watched with increasing disbelief as the two men grappled, limbs straining and glistening muscles bunching, while the female audience yelled and screamed.  Jack grimaced as he realized he was watching the gender-reversed equivalent of mud-wrestling!

Jade Tiger pinned Sweet Ass to the sands, causing gasps of dismay from the audience.  Sweet Ass struggled dramatically, face straining, fist pounding the ground and sending sparkly sand flying.  He cried out and writhed in apparent pain as Jade Tiger appeared to land a blow to his kidneys, and there were groans of horror from the crowd.  Finally, Sweet Ass broke the other guy’s hold by twisting around and yanking his balls!  Jade Tiger yowled as if his balls had been ripped clean off, eliciting a combination of cheers and shocked laughter from the audience.  But Jack knew the guy’s reaction was exaggerated.  He hadn’t been hurt that bad.  And Sweet Ass hadn’t been hurt at all.  Jade Tiger had pulled his punch.

_For crying out loud!_ thought Jack.  _This isn’t even a real fight!  It’s scripted!_

And they expected _him_ to get into that Arena?  They expected Jack O’Neill – USAF colonel, Special Ops veteran, and leader of SG-1 – to roll around naked in the sparkly sand with another guy, all for the titillation of a bunch of screaming women?  _No way in hell!_

Jack shifted uncomfortably, and the “premium seat” instantly adapted, caressing his naked body.  _Then again,_ he thought, _doesn’t look like these fights involve any risk to life or limb, or vital internal organs, or very important external organs.  And wouldn’t  that be kind of a nice change?_

It looked as if you’d be unlucky to come away from the Arena with a bad bruise.  He’d been expecting something a whole lot worse.  _It doesn’t suck bad enough,_ he thought.  _There has to be a catch._

Jack turned to the Bronze Guy and said, “That’s it?  That’s the big illegal operation?  That’s what they faked our deaths for?”  Jack put on a bemused expression.  “You know, where I come from, there are guys who do pretty much the same thing of their own free wills.  On national television.  Well,” he conceded, “except for the naked part.”

The Bronze Guy gave him a listless look and said, “You’re watching what we call the Wrestling Matches.  They’re geared to appeal to a broad audience – and the truth is, most Ashoran women honestly don’t like violence.  They like to ogle the men and feel wicked for violating Ashoran principles, but they wouldn’t want to see anybody really get hurt.  The Syndicate makes money on the Wrestling Matches – especially since Elal came on board.  She’s turned them into a real paying proposition.  But originally, they were designed mostly as a cover.  ‘Cause even though they’re illegal, most Ashorans don’t take them too seriously, so there’s not much pressure on the Government to shut them down.  That makes it easy for the Syndicate to bribe officials to look the other way.”

“So,” asked Jack, “what’s being covered up?”

“The Games,” said the Bronze Guy.  “The Games are geared toward a much more exclusive audience.  They’re put on for women who like to watch men fight for real, and get hurt for real, and are willing and able to pay through the nose to experience that forbidden thrill.”

_I knew it,_ thought Jack.  _I really hate being right._

At that moment, a horn sounded, and the contestants pulled apart and went back to their respective sides of the Arena.  The announcer’s voice came on and began talking about the moves scored by each man.  As she mentioned the moves, points were displayed on a holographic scoreboard that appeared in the air over the Arena.  The announcer made a big production out of it, and the audience cheered or booed as the points racked up for each man.  Jack realized that the cheering and booing was what really decided these contests.  And Sweet Ass was clearly the perennial crowd favorite.  Jack had no doubt Sweet Ass had been scripted to win, with the other guy cast as the unsympathetic challenger the crowd would love to hate.

Sure enough, at the end of the scoring process, Sweet Ass was declared the winner.  The challenger slunk away through his exit, while Sweet Ass walked to the center of the Arena.  He raised both fists triumphantly, shaking them in the air and grinning as he turned slowly to interact with every section of the stadium.  The crowd roared its approval.

“Sweet Ass has done it again!” cried the announcer.  “But did he fight well enough, sisters?  Did he truly please you?”

“Yes!” screamed the crowd.

“Does he deserve a reward?” asked the announcer.

“Yes!  Yes!” screamed the crowd.

“Shall I give him his reward?” asked the announcer.

And the crowd began to chant, “Give it to him!  Give it to him!  Give it to him!”

The lights dimmed, and several white spotlights shot down to focus on Sweet Ass.  The overlapping circles put him at the center of a flower of bright light.  As the crowd continued to chant, Sweet Ass began to develop an enormous erection.  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his expression blissful.  He began to turn slowly, his hips moving rhythmically, displaying himself to the women on all sides.

Then he brought his forearms down on his head, fists clenched, and grimaced.  His body went rigid.  “Ah, ah, AH, ahh!” he shouted.  His whole body jerked, and in the bright light, something could be seen spurting away from his groin.

Jack felt stunned – and a little sick.  “Okay,” he said.  “Nobody does _that_ on national television.”

The Warrior Guy made a guttural sound of disgust and tried, once again, to get to his feet.  Once again, he cried out in pain and fell back into his chair.

“What manner of reward is this?” he shouted, his voice full of outrage.  “And what manner of contest?  Those men did not fight in truth!  They but played at fighting, and demeaned themselves utterly before all these women!  They are not true men at all.  They are no better than the diseased curs who crawl on their bellies before the kitchen wenches and lick the women’s shoes, begging for a few scraps from the garbage heap!”

The Warrior Guy had been very quiet during the “contest.”  Jack had seen him staring out into the Arena, looking appalled yet unable to drag his eyes away.  It was the sort of expression you might expect on someone watching a train wreck.  But then, to a warrior with a Jaffa-like code of honor, the fake combat in the Arena was probably just as horrible.  No, _more_ horrible.  This guy would probably rather be in a train wreck any day.

“I am a Warrior of the Blue Cuirass!” he cried.  “I will never shame myself in such a manner.  I would rather die.”

 “Don’t worry,” said the Bronze Guy.  He sounded tired.  “You’ll get your wish.  See, there’s a different kind of fighting that goes on here.  Lots more serious.  Lots of blood-letting and gut-spilling.  You’ll get to show off your mastery of the broadsword.”

Jack gave the Bronze Guy a sharp look.  “So that’s why you said it was lucky I fought with guns.”

“That’s right,” he said.  “The Games are fought with pre-industrial weapons.  Since you don’t know how to fight with a sword, they’ll probably only use you for the Wrestling Matches.”

“They won’t put me in the real fights?” asked Jack, not quite believing this news.  The Wrestling Matches wouldn’t be _that_ terrible – not as long as he made sure never to _win_.  Things were back to not sucking bad enough, and that put him on edge.  He hated having to guess when the other shoe was going to drop.

Jack looked over at the Warrior Guy and said, “When you meet the boss ladies, it might be better not to boast about how good you are with a sword.”

The Warrior Guy scowled at Jack.  “I do not boast!” he said, his tone indignant.  “My skill has been proven many times, both on the sparing grounds and on the field of battle.  And I do not fear these ‘Games.’  It is far better to die in a true contest of arms than to participate in … _that_.”  Lip curling in distain, he gestured toward the Arena, where Sweet Ass had departed and the two guys with rakes had come back out, preparing the sands for the next match.

Jack gave the Warrior Guy a neutral look.  “Okay,” he said.  “It’s your spleen.”

“It doesn’t matter what he says, anyway,” said the Bronze Guy.  Jack turned and looked into the Bronze Guy’s hard face and jaded brown eyes.  He was beginning to see past the paint.  He was beginning to recognize a man not unlike himself – a soldier of the gun-toting, pragmatic variety.  “Like I told you,” the Bronze Guy went on, “the Syndicate has all the records of our capture and evaluation by the Bureau of Liberation.  They know who can fight with a sword and who can’t.”

“Just as well,” said Jack.  “Our friend here would rather lose an arm or two than dishonor himself by only pretending to fight.  Different strokes for different folks.”

A shadow passed over the Bronze Guy’s face.  He glanced at the big warrior, who was busy scowling at the bare-breasted women in the stands.  Then he leaned closer to Jack and said, “If only that were all.  If only the worse thing we had to face around here was a fair fight in the Arena.”  His mouth thinned.  “But it’s not,” he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.  “It’s what happens _outside_ the Arena that really makes this place the pit of hell.”

Jack looked into the Bronze Guy’s eyes, and what he saw there shook him.  He saw fear, self-hatred, and utter despair.  He saw the haunted anguish of a man whose spirit had been broken.


	10. The Women Who Own You

Jack looked away from the Bronze Guy’s haunted eyes, staring out into the Arena as he tried to assimilate what he had perceived.  The more Jack interacted with the Bronze Guy, the more he recognized all the subtle, familiar signs of a combat-hardened professional soldier.  What went on in this place that could bring a man like that so completely to his knees?

There was no point in speculating.  He’d find out exactly what he faced soon enough.

Jack’s attention snapped to his right at the sound of a bell-like tone.  It was coming from the little device the Bronze Guy had used to control the properties of the window/wall that looked out on the Arena.  The Bronze Guy picked the device up from the arm of his chair and held it against the side of his face as if it were a cell phone.

“Yes, Eli?” he said.

Jack could just hear the sound of a woman’s voice coming from the device, but couldn’t make out what she was saying.

“Yes, Eli.  I’ll get them ready.”

As the Bronze Guy brought the device away from his ear, Jack said, “His master’s voice.”  The words just popped out.  He couldn’t help it.  But when the Bronze Guy gave him another weary, broken look, Jack regretted them.  Who knew how long this man had been a prisoner here, or what he’d been through?

Jack knew what it felt like to be a prisoner at the mercy of ruthless jailers, with no escape in sight.  No guarantee there was any light at the end of the tunnel.  He knew because he’d spent four months in an Iraqi prison, under the boot heels of Saddam Hussein’s sadistic goons.  That was one of the episodes in his life that he kept buried deep in his special mental cellar – the place inside him where he shoved all the really bad crap.

Jack kept his mental cellar tightly sealed off from the rest of his mind.  In his mind’ eye, the cellar door looked like one of those ridiculously thick steel doors they put on bank vaults, that closed with a wheel.  Only it closed downwards, like a trap door.  Whenever there was something Jack couldn’t afford to think about, or _feel_ about, he imagined dropping it down into that dark, deep cellar at the bottom of his mind.  And then he imagined closing the cellar door.  The door would fall shut with an enormously heavy, air-tight boom, and then he’d spin the wheel to lock it, and that was that.  The crap was as good as gone.  Well – just about.

Jack had never told anyone about the mental cellar with the big, bad-ass door, least of all any of the shrinks the Air Force occasionally forced him to talk to.  In Jack’s opinion, all shrinks were quacks.  They might claim to have a handle on the mysteries of the human mind, but what did they really know?  He was pretty sure the shrinks would tell him his mental cellar was a bad idea, but, time and again, it had enabled him to stay focused on the real threat, instead of getting all distracted by stuff that was already done and gone.  It had kept him alive more times than he could count.  More importantly, it had helped him stay sharp enough to shield the people under his command.  The only thing he’d never been able to lock away in the cellar was Charlie’s death, but that was different.  That wasn’t war stuff.

The Bronze Guy hit a control on the little device, and their portal into the sights and sounds of the Arena turned back into a blank, white wall.  He stood up and faced Jack and the Warrior Guy.

“Listen up!” he barked – and Jack recognized the authoritative tone of an officer.  “You two are about to receive a privilege you don’t deserve.”  Was it Jack’s imagination, or was there a double meaning in those words?  Maybe this man wasn’t quite _completely_ beaten down.  “Like I told you before, there’s an important visitor here tonight.  And she’s decided she’d like to inspect the new arrivals.  It’s not often we get two new male dogs for the kennel in one day.  So, you’re about to meet the women who own you.”  The Bronze Guy gave them both a cold, sad stare.  “They own your bodies completely.  Those Collars you’re wearing give them total control.  Your bodies are your prisons now, and these women hold all the keys.  All they have to do is think it, and you’ll feel it in your miserable flesh – paralysis, agony, lust, death.  And there’s no way to fight it.  The Collars won’t let you fight – not unless the women allow it, and they’ll allow it only for their entertainment.  You’re completely helpless.”

“I am no dog!” growled the Warrior Guy.  “And I will not take orders from a woman.”

The Bronze Guy stepped forward and leaned down, getting in the other man’s face.  Jack expected him to start shouting like a boot-camp sergeant, but he didn’t.  Instead he just locked eyes with the Warrior Guy and stared.  There was a silence, and Jack saw a reaction go through the Warrior Guy’s body – an alarmed stillness.  He pressed back into his chair a little, and Jack knew he must have seen the same thing in the Bronze Guy’s eyes that Jack had seen.

The Bronze Guy stepped back again and scanned both their faces with a penetrating, tragic gaze.  “You’re about to meet the women who own you,” he said again, this time more softly, “There are two women who run this place:  Elal and Umala.  They’re the ones who have the power to make your lives a living hell.  And tonight, they’ll be accompanied by their boss – one of the higher-ups in the Syndicate.  So take my advice:  behave yourselves.  Don’t make a fuss.  Don’t try to fight the Collar, or make insulting remarks, or any of that kind of crap.  Don’t speak unless spoken to.  Be extremely respectful.”

The Warrior Guy scowled at the Bronze Guy.  Jack gave him a completely blank expression.

“Oh, yeah,” said the Bronze Guy, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I almost forgot.  You’re both too tough to need any advice.  Isn’t that right?”  He shrugged.  “Fine.  If you want to make things even harder for yourselves than they already will be, go right ahead.  Ignore what I’m telling you.  It’s no skin off my nose.”

He gave them both another intense, haunted stare.  “But if either of you have any sense at all, you’ll listen.  Don’t make the same mistakes I did.  Don’t waste your strength, right from the start, on useless gestures of defiance.  Save what strength you have for the long haul.  Maybe that way, you’ll manage to hang on to some small piece of your soul.  Unlike me.”

The Warrior Guy shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t say anything more.  He could probably tell, just as Jack could, that the Bronze Guy was sincerely trying to look out for them.  Jack’s estimation of the man kept going up.  He might be beaten down, but, despite his words, he hadn’t completely lost his soul.  He still cared.

There was a sound somewhere behind them.  Jack peered around the side of his chair in time to see three women enter the room through a door in the back wall.  He followed them with his eyes as they walked around the row of chairs, toward the front of the room.

One of the women was in her twenties; the second was in her thirties; and the third was at least seventy.  Jack was guessing the older woman was the Big Boss Lady.  From what the Bronze Guy had said, she was the Ashoran equivalent of a Mafia don, but she didn’t look like a crime boss.  She looked like somebody’s petite, lady-like grandmother.  Then again, Mafia dons usually looked like somebody’s harmless, decrepit grandfather.

As the women reached the front of the room, Jack leaned back casually and studied them.  The two younger women flanking the Big Boss Lady were the most mismatched pair you could imagine.  Both of them were tall, towering over the petite crime boss, but other than that they were physical opposites.

The youngest woman was skinny as a rail.  Like most Ashoran women, she went topless, but there wasn’t much to see.  She was almost as flat as a man.  Her complexion was coffee-and-cream, but her hair was dirty blond, and her eyes were hazel.  Her eyes were the only good feature in her long, horsy face.

The other woman was as fat as the first was skinny.  She had a pasty, white complexion, dark brown hair, and a pear-shaped face with thick lips and piggy little black eyes.  Her clothes were ridiculously tight.  Her belt pinched into her rolls of fat, but failed to give her a waist.  Her topless bodice formed a sort of shelf under her huge, heavy, white breasts, but failed to hold them up.  They still bulged over and hung down.  Jack found her seriously disgusting – and it was more than just her physical ugliness.  There was something about her that set off all his alarm bells.

When the three women stopped in front of him and the Warrior Guy, the Bronze Guy got down on his knees and elbows and crawled over to Skinny.  He kissed both her feet.  Then he backed up – still on knees and elbows – and pressed his forehead to the ground.  And just stayed that way.  Jack showed no reaction, but his stomach churned at the sight of this abject groveling.

_Concentrate what you can learn_ , he thought.  Since the Bronze Guy had kissed Skinny’s feet, Jack was guessing she was Elal.  So Fatso had to be Umala.  And hadn’t the Stumpy Blond mentioned that name?  Hadn’t she said something about how Umala loved to bring male dogs to heel?

Jack noticed Umala watching him with a slight smile on her thick lips, and an unhealthy gleam in her little black eyes.  Jack met her eyes, refusing to be stared down.  He gave her obese body a casual once-over.  Then he turned to the elderly crime boss and said, “Isn’t it sad how some people really can’t handle their donuts?”

He saw the crime boss raise her eyebrows, and then the pain hit.  For an interminable period, the world was blanked out by the white-hot agony of the Collar.  When the pain finally receded, Jack found himself panting and trembling.  He couldn’t be sure, but he thought that was the longest bout of Punishment he’d yet experienced.

It occurred to Jack that maybe the Bronze Guy had given good advice.  Maybe it really would be smarter not to waste his strength on “useless gestures of defiance.”  Oh, well.  Nobody had ever accused him of being smart.  Jack gave Skinny and the Big Boss Lady a conspiratorial look and said, “Touchy, isn’t she?”

He saw amusement in Skinny’s eyes before the pain hit again.  But the pain was abruptly cut off when the Big Boss Lady made an impatient gesture and said, “Enough, Umala.  What does it matter what he says?”

Fatso frowned and said, “It pains me to see this miserable male show such disrespect before you, Honored One.  But, as I warned you, these males are brand new.  They came straight through our pipeline from the Bureau of Liberation, so they’re fresh from their patriarchal worlds.  They haven’t yet been taught their manners.”

“I’m aware of their status, Umala,” said the crime boss.  She spoke softly, but there was something very hard in her voice.  “And I find it disturbing that we received two males through the pipeline in one day.  Esestia is getting careless.”

“It isn’t that Esestia recommended two males for termination in one day, Honored One.  She recommended that one first,” and Umala wobbled her chins toward Jack, “but he appeared to have escaped termination.  So Esestia recommended that one,” and she indicated the Warrior Guy, “the next day.”

“Still,” put in Skinny, “I agree with your concern, Honored One.  Two terminations from the same evaluator, so close together?  Esestia _is_ getting careless.”

“I will caution her if you feel I should, Honored One,” said Fatso.  “But I don’t think we could ask for a better arrangement than the one we have with Esestia.  All the money we pay her to send males our way comes right back to us, because she spends it all on the Games.  She’s an addict.”

Skinny snorted.  “Oh, I definitely think we could ask for a better arrangement, considering how quickly Esestia _uses up_ males in all those Combats to the Death she’s so fond of.”

“Nonsense!” snapped Fatso, glaring at Skinny.  “Esestia supplies many more males than she uses up.  And we rake in all those Death Premiums from her.”  Fatso smiled smugly.  “She’s one of the reasons our profit margin is so high on the Games.  More than twice as high as on the Wrestling Matches,” she added, with a sneer in Skinny’s direction.

Skinny glared at her.  “But at what risk?  If the secret of the Games ever got out, it would cause a huge public outcry.  All the politicians would fall over each other demonstrating how tough they are on crime, and our _entire_ operation would suffer.”  Skinny shifted her gaze to the Big Boss Lady, and her face suddenly lit up with child-like enthusiasm.  “The Wrestling Matches don’t present that sort of risk, Honored One!  And to raise our profit margin, all we have to do is put in more seats!  Right now, we have to turn customers away because there isn’t enough room!”

“And that’s exactly what the problem is!” growled Fatso.  “The Wrestling Matches have become _too_ popular.  Too many people know about them!  _That’s_ were the risk lies!”

“Enough!” snapped the Big Boss Lady.  She gave each of the younger women a flat stare, her eyes as hard and opaque as obsidian.  “The Games will continue,” she said.  “As for putting in more seats – I’ll take it under advisement.”  Skinny’s face fell, while Fatso’s habitual nasty little smile got wider.

Jack watched this interaction with interest.  It was clear that Fatso and Skinny were rivals, and hated each other’s guts.  Jack wondered how he might make use of that.

The elderly crime boss’s gaze went back to Jack and the Warrior Guy.  “Have them stand up,” she said.  “I want to look them over.”

“You heard her, you worthless dogs!” barked Fatso.  “Stand up and display yourselves!”

Jack decided to go along with the command.  “Don’t mind if I do,” he said, standing up and stretching ostentatiously.  “Not that it isn’t a nice chair, but with my back the way it is….”

“Turn around!” snapped Umala.  “ _Slowly_.”  Her lips curled with disdain.  “Show us your entire body, such as it is.”

Jack looked askance at her bloated form and raised his eyebrows.  Though he didn’t actually say _Who are you to talk,_ it was as clear as words.

Umala’s expression curdled.  “On second thought,” she hissed, “don’t turn around yet.  We haven’t had a proper look at your _most important_ asset.”

And with those words, Jack felt pressure begin to build in his groin.  _Crap_ , he thought, _that’s just not right._   The first time this had happened, when the Stumpy Blond had been “testing the Collar,” it had surprised and confused him.  Now, he understood at once that Umala was using the Collar to manipulate his body.  He started fighting the alien impulse, desperately trying to get his body to _stop doing that_.

To no avail.  His body’s most intimate reactions were being controlled by another’s will, and there was nothing he could do about it.  Even though it didn’t hurt, Jack found that very hard to bear.  It reminded him of … something.  Something that normally lay deeply buried…

_Hathor’s lab.  The horrifying sensation of a Goa’uld parasite burrowing into his body, the even more horrifying sensation of an Goa’uld mind touching his.  The nightmare of becoming a prisoner within his own body…_

Jack closed his eyes for a moment and pushed that memory back down, way down to the bottom of his mental cellar.  _Damn,_ he thought.  _I’m beginning to understand what the Bronze Guy was talking about._

The tension in his groin continued to build.  Soon, he found himself tightly erect.  The artificially induced sexual excitement in his body clashed sickeningly with the anger and disgust in his soul.  Jack clenched his fists.  It was just so damn _wrong!_   And theway Umala was watching him – the moist pleasure in her eyes, the satisfied smirk on her lips.  Jack experienced a spike of red rage that nearly escaped his control.

Clenching his fists tighter, he fought down his anger.  He had already revealed too much to this woman.  She might be human, but Jack’s gut told him she was as much of a sadistic monster as any Goa’uld.  He couldn’t stop her from hurting him physically – not yet – but he could try to deny her the emotional pain she craved.  That was the only form of resistance available to him at the moment.

So, with practiced discipline, Jack took all his powerful, churning emotions and dropped them through the trap door in the bottom of his consciousness.  He felt them fall away into the deep basement in his psyche, and then felt the heavy, impregnable door fall closed.  He only kept a little of the anger with him, knowing it would help him focus.

Jack gave Umala an expressionless stare and said, in a conversational tone, “You know, where I come from, there are women who don’t need to run electrodes into a man’s brain to get this kind of reaction.”  He had the satisfaction of seeing Umala’s eyes narrow in anger and disappointment.

Skinny snickered and gave him a sly, admiring smile.  There was something about her demeanor that was just really… _off_.  She was acting like a teenage girl flirting with a boy at a party, instead of a slave-owner tormenting a slave.  This woman was not playing with a full deck.

Meanwhile, the Big Boss Lady was examining him as if he were a bug on a slide.  _Oh, yeah_ , though Jack.  _Having_ you _for a grandmother would be loads of fun_.

The Warrior Guy had – surprisingly – risen quietly to his feet when asked, and had been watching silently up till now.  Though Elal and Umala were tall women, he stood head and shoulders above them, his body an imposing pillar of muscle.

Jack saw those muscles suddenly tense, and knew the Warrior Guy was going to lunge at Umala – but instead, he fell to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut.  He lay unmoving, his body obviously paralyzed, but the way his eyes were rolling indicated he was being Punished.

_Oy_ , thought Jack.  _It’s that damn anti-aggression programming in the Collars._ But, as he’d already discovered back when he’d been trying to get out of Sam’s locked bedroom, the programming wasn’t perfect.  _I’m going to need to explore the imperfections_ , he thought – though he knew it wouldn’t be fun.  He would undoubtedly get knocked on his ass a few times.  Probably more than a few.

Umala chuckled at the fallen Warrior – but suddenly turned serious when she saw the crime boss’s annoyed expression.  “Bronze Stallion!” she snapped, looking toward the Bronze Guy.  He was still huddled motionless on the floor, but Jack saw him flinch at the sound of Umala’s voice.  “Get over here and see that this stupid dog obeys the Honored One’s commands.”

“Wait a minute!” protested Skinny.  “My Bronzy is not yours to command!”

“Enough bickering,” snapped the Big Boss Lady.  “You,” she said, impatiently gesturing toward the Bronze Guy, “do as Umala said.”

The Bronze Guy got up and came over to stand next to the prone Warrior.  His eyes flicked over to Skinny, and then down again.

“Honored One,” said Umala, “may I respectfully suggest that the male be allowed to feel the Collar for a little longer?  If we release him now, he’ll just waste our time again.  I know his type.”

Jack’s erection had quickly faded as soon as Umala’s attention shifted.  He looked down at the poor Warrior Guy, who had provided the distraction.  The man’s eyes were rolled back in his head now, showing little but the whites.  Jack tried to catch the Bronze Guy’s eyes, wondering if there was anything they could do for the Warrior, but the Bronze Guy avoided his gaze.

The crime boss shrugged.  “Very well, Umala.  You’re the expert on breaking in wild males.”  Umala smiled at this acknowledgement – the first smile Jack had seen from her that wasn’t tinged with malice.

Then Skinny harrumphed, earning a scowl from Umala and a displeased stare from the Big Boss Lady.  “Forgive me, Honored One,” she said.  “As far as the Games go, you’re entirely correct, of course.  Umala’s brand of training is just fine.  But training a male to be a success in the Wrestling Matches requires a lighter touch.  Just look at how much money Sweet Ass is making for us!  That’s because the crowd responds to his enthusiasm.  If Umala had had him even one day longer, she would have ruined him!”

Umala scowled harder, but the Big Boss Lady said, “You were right to alert me to Sweet Ass’s case, Eli.  It’s true he really didn’t need breaking.  However, we don’t get many like him.  Most of these males have to be taught how to obey.”

“Of course they do, Honored One.  But they can be taught to obey without being turned into lifeless lumps.  If we had more males with Sweet Ass’s crowd appeal, we could raise our prices even more!  And that way we wouldn’t need to put in more seats!”  She gestured toward Jack.  “Take this male, for example.  I have a feeling he could become a real winner in the Wrestling Matches.  He could draw in lots of faithful fans for us, just like Sweet Ass does!”

“Him?” said Umala, her tone disdainful.  “He’s old.  And not nearly as good looking as Sweet Ass.”

“I’m relieved you feel that way,” said Jack.

Umala’s beady little eyes flashed with anger, and Jack braced for Punishment.  One of these days, he really was going to have to learn not to insult people who had the power to hurt him.  But then Umala glanced at the Big Boss Lady, and must have realized that zapping Jack again would annoy the crime boss.  Her white face flushed pink, and her big, ugly lips curled in angry frustration.

Skinny laughed.  “You see?” she said to the crime boss.  “It’s not just his physical looks – though those aren’t bad.”  Elal examined Jack critically, her brow furrowed.  “He’s got a certain something.  An interesting sort of edge.  _That’s_ what could make him a success in the Arena!”

_Skinny wants to make me a star?_ thought Jack.  That had possibilities.  From what the Bronze Guy had said, the women who watched the Wrestling Matches would be upset to learn that men were getting seriously hurt here.  Couldn’t he communicate with them?  Ask them for help?   _The Syndicate’s got to have measures in place to prevent that_ , he thought.  _Otherwise, it would already have happened._ Still – there had to be a way.  And the bigger the audience, the better.  So if Skinny wanted to make him a star, maybe he should go along with that.

Except for one thing – if he became a star, wouldn’t that mean he’d have to “win” and get “rewarded?”

“Our trouble is,” Skinny went on, “that we have only one contestant that the audience really likes.  If some of the women were actually rooting for the challenger, we could get a competition going!”

Skinny turned to the Big Boss Lady, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm.  “We could set up some fights that the audience would be dying to see, and charge extra!  This male would make an excellent challenger, Honored One.  He has a certain charm – but at the same time, he has that wild male sort of menace about him.  He’d be a great counter-weight to Sweet Ass!”  Then her brow furrowed with concern.  “But _not_ if you let Umala break him in, Honored One, because she’ll take away his edge.  When she’s done with him, he’ll be bland and uninteresting!”

“What are you suggesting, Elal?” sneered Umala.  “Don’t tell me you think _you_ could break him.”

Elal glared at Umala.  “Of course I could!”  She sent a pleading look toward the Big Boss Lady.  “Please, Honored One, let me show you!  I’m sick of watching Umala ruin my Wrestlers.  I don’t need her to break in my males for me!”

Umala chuckled, and shook her head in a patronizing manner.  “Elal could never handle this male, Honored One.  He’s a hard case – I can tell.”  She looked at Jack, her eyes glittering.  “But I learned long ago that males are like birili nuts.  The harder the shell, the sweeter the meat inside.  Next time you visit, Honored One, I’ll have this one all cracked open and ready for you to sample – should you care to.”

“No!” cried Elal.  “Mima, don’t let her!  She’ll ruin him!”  Elal was sounding more and more like a frustrated child.

“Nonsense,” snapped Umala.  “I’ll teach him to obey.  What’s all this stupid talk about preserving the male’s ‘edge?’  What for?  The Wrestling Matches are just a cover for the Games, anyway.”

“No, Umala,” said the Big Boss Lady.  “That’s what they were when _you_ ran them.  A money-losing cover.  But Eli has turned them into a significant source of revenue.”  Skinny’s face lit up, while Fatso glowered.

Jack looked between Fatso and Skinny, thinking that having two women fight over him should have been a lot more fun than this.  “I’ll take Curtain Number Three,” he said.

The women ignored him.  Skinny and Fatso glared at each other, while the Big Boss Lady studied Jack with that ice-cold, calculating stare of hers.

“Umala,” she finally said, “you can have him for the first night.  After that, Eli gets him.”

“ _No!_ ” whined Elal.  “Mima, _please!_   I don’t want her getting her dirty paws on _my_ male!”  She now sounded exactly like a ticked-off six-year-old.

“Control yourself, Eli!” snapped the Big Boss Lady.  “Remember who you are!”

Skinny pouted, but shut up.  And Jack wondered at the familiar tone with which she had addressed the Big Boss Lady.  Though they didn’t look alike, maybe they were related.

“With respect, Honored One,” said Umala, “one night won’t be enough to break him.  I need more time.”

“I’m sure you’ll make the most of the time I’m giving you, Umala.”

“But, Honored One…”

“ _I have spoken_ ,” said the crime boss, cutting her off.  “But if the male proves unmanageable, I’ll give him back to you, Umala.  Naturally.”

As she said this, the Big Boss Lady gave Jack a flat stare.  Jack returned the stare.  He understood exactly what she was doing.  She was going to give him a taste of the Big Bad, so that they could use the threat of more to keep him in line.  So that he would be grateful for Skinny’s “lighter touch.”  The situation sucked.  But, then again, it could easily get worse.

“Now,” said the crime boss, looking toward the fallen Warrior, “I want to finish examining the other one.”

Umala must have released the Warrior from the Paralysis and Punishment commands, because his limp body suddenly shuddered.  He let out a gasping, desperate moan.  Then he just lay there and trembled, his eyes unfocused.

“Get him up,” snapped Umala to the Bronze Guy.

The Bronze Guy reached down and began to pull and coax the Warrior Guy to this feet.  The Warrior allowed himself to be helped up, looking dazed.

“Well,” said the Big Boss Lady, “he looks strong.  And, according to his records, he has the proper fighting skills for the Games.”

“Yes,” said Umala.  “we should be able to get some good use out of him.  Once I’ve finished breaking him in, of course.”  She grinned at the Warrior.  “You’re beginning to understand who your master is, aren’t you, dog?”

At her loud, sneering voice, the Warrior lost some of his dazed look.  His eyes focused on Umala, and his body tensed with anger.  And then – he spit in Umala’s face!  A big glob of spit hit her right in the eye!  Umala looked utterly shocked.

Immediately, the Warrior collapsed again.  Jack didn’t think Umala had done that.  It was the Collar’s anti-aggression programming – but it hadn’t kicked in until _after_ the Warrior had _already_ spit in Umala’s face.  Interesting.

Skinny started laughing, and Umala unfroze.  She wiped at her eye, her face flushing red and twisting with rage.  “You miserable piece of rotten male meat!” she screamed.  “I’ll make you wish you’d never been born!”

Jack saw the Bronze Guy seem to shrink in on himself.  He looked down listlessly at the Warrior, his whole posture speaking of despair.  It was clear the Bronze Guy thought the Warrior was a goner.

The Big Boss Lady watched Umala’s rage dispassionately.  “I’m sure you’ll straighten him out, Umala,” she said.  “And I’m equally certain you’ll do it without damaging him unduly, because I know you understand that these illegal males represent a considerable investment.”

Umala’s enraged gaze went to the Big Boss Lady, and for a moment Jack thought she was going to talk back to her.  But then Umala swallowed her anger and said, “Of course, Honored One.”

“I’m finished with these males now,” said the crime boss, “but I’ll accompany you as you put them away.  I want to inspect the Big Room as well.  Then we can all go to dinner.”

Umala gave the crime boss a quick, unhappy glance.

“Yes, Umala,” said the crime boss.  “I know you’re impatient to begin working on these males.  But there’ll be time enough after dinner.”  She turned to Elal and smiled.  “As for me, I’m looking forward to some entertainment after dinner.  I want you to have Sweet Ass ready to Serve me in the Rainbow Room.  Along with that male with the blond hair and violet paint.  And the dark-skinned one with silver paint.”

_Yeech,_ thought Jack.

Elal grinned.  “Of course, Honored One.  What interesting choices!  I’ll have to try that combination myself sometime.”  She said this with girlish enthusiasm, as if she were talking about trying on new clothes.  _What a whack-job,_ thought Jack.  _And this woman is going to be my “owner?”_

Elal looked toward Jack and the Warrior.  “Well,” she said, “let’s get these males put away so we can get some dinner.  They need to start getting used to their new home.”

Jack took in Skinny’s weird cheerfulness, the Big Boss Lady’s icy calculation, and Fatso’s sadistic malice.   _Right,_ he thought.  _My new home.  Peachy._   Fatso was currently focused on the Warrior Guy, but it was too much to hope she would forget what the Big Boss Lady had said about Jack’s “first night.”

_It hasn’t happened yet,_ Jack told himself.  Maybe he could still find a way to avoid Fatso’s charms.  Though he had a feeling he was going to sample Skinny’s charms whether he liked it or not.  He’d just have to endure until he found a way to escape.

It couldn’t be worse than the Iraqi prison.  Could it?


	11. The Pit of Hell

“You!” said Fatso to Jack.  “Help Bronze Stallion carry that one,” and she pointed to the paralyzed Warrior.

“I have a better idea,” said Jack.  “Why don’t you un-paralyze him so he can walk?”

Umala’s eyes flashed, and the pain hit again.  Jack had been expecting it, and tried not to let it completely overwhelm him this time.  He tried to stay aware of what was happening around him.  He sensed himself falling to the ground.  He felt the tension in his muscles as he convulsed, the rawness in his throat as he cried out, but then his eyes squeezed shut, and he couldn’t remember what he’d been trying to do.  The only thing he knew was _pain_ ; the only thing he wanted was for the pain to _stop_.

And then it did.  For a moment, his mind was fuzzy and almost blank.  Then his sense of self returned, and his surroundings snapped back into focus.

“…haven’t got time for it now, Umala.”  It was the crime boss’s voice.  “You’ll be able to work on him after dinner.  It’s obvious Bronze Stallion can carry the other male by himself.  We’re going to the Big Room.”

Jack felt an hand on his arm.  “Come on, get up.”  It was Skinny.  Her tone was firm, but not unfriendly.

Jack stood up, trying not to shake.  He looked around and saw that the Bronze Guy had the Warrior slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.  The Warrior was a big, heavy man, but the Bronze Guy wasn’t exactly a 98-pound weakling.  He met Jack’s eyes, and Jack realized he had picked up the Warrior by himself to defuse the situation.  To get Jack off the hook.

The crime boss began walking around the row of chairs, toward the back of the room.  “Get moving!” snarled Fatso, glaring at Jack.

Jack started following the crime boss.  Skinny walked behind him, then the Bronze Guy carrying the Warrior, then Fatso.  They all trooped through the door in the back of the room.  Jack paid close attention as they crossed a wide, slightly curved hallway – which looked as if it might encircle the Arena – and then went through a door on the other side.  The doors opened for the crime boss without her touching any controls.  _Those damn neural implants_ , thought Jack.  How would he be able to unlock doors without them?

Now they were moving down a corridor.  The walls, floor, and ceiling were grey and slightly unfinished-looking, and the lighting managed to be both dim and harsh.  It looked like a warehouse or storage basement.  When they reached the end of the corridor, another door opened, and they all stepped out into a large, echoing space.

Jack figured this had to be the Big Room.  It was just a rectangular chamber with the same bare walls and harsh lighting as the corridor, but it was half the size of a football field.  About forty naked, painted, Collared men where standing or sitting or lying in it.  Their movements filled the chamber with a vague rustling, but Jack heard almost no voices.  The men were located mostly at the two narrow ends of the room, and up near the walls some of the men where surrounded by furniture.  But none of them were gathered in groups, as you might expect.  Each man was separated from the others, and the spacing between them was strangely regular.  Then Jack noticed that there were squares painted on the floor, and each man was inside one.

Jack saw a man pacing within one of the squares.  He would cross the small square in a few quick strides, but turn sharply around when he reached the thick white line that marked the edge.  Then he would pace in the opposite direction, and turn again when he reached the other side of square.  Jack noticed he never set foot on the white line, or allowed any part of his body to lean over it.  He treated it as if it were a physical barrier.  Jack wondered if there were a force field there, but if so it was completely invisible.

“Honored One,” said Umala, “I’d like to take a moment to put _that_ one on the Ropes.”  She gestured toward the Warrior.  “That way, he can start reaping the rewards of his insolence while we’re at dinner.”

The crime boss waved her hand dismissively.  “All right,” she said.

“Bronze Stallion,” snapped Umala, “bring him!”

The door through which they’d entered the Big Room was at the center of one of the long sides, and immediately in front of it, down the center of the room, was a clear swath that didn’t have any men in it.  The floor lacked those painted squares, but it contained some odd fixtures.  There seemed to be several pairs of shackles, and close to each was a pedestal with a black box on it.

Umala walked to the shackles at the center of the room, and the Bronze Guy trailed behind her, carrying the Warrior.  “Put him down,” she said.  And the Bronze Guy did – though Jack noticed a fractional hesitation before he obeyed her command.  Then, presumably at Umala’s mental command, two more shackles descended from the ceiling, suspended by cables.

“Now bind him,” said Umala, her voice hard.

The Bronze Guy sent a pleading glance toward Skinny, and she said, “Wait a minute!  That isn’t my Bronzy’s job.  Get one of _your_ males to do it.”

“For Goddess’s sake, Eli,” said the Big Boss Lady, her voice full of exasperation, “your male is right here.  He can do it.”

“But, Mima…”

“No buts!” snapped the crime boss.

Skinny subsided with a pout, while Fatso smiled.

The Bronze Guy showed no expression.  He hadn’t shown any since the women had arrived.  But his whole body seemed to slump.  He bent down and attached the shackles to the Warrior’s wrists and ankles, moving as if his limbs weighed a thousand pounds.  After securing the shackles, he got a sort of mouthpiece from a drawer in the pedestal.  He put it into the Warrior’s mouth, and fastened it around his head.

Jack kept his emotions locked away as he watched.  It was clear something bad was going to happen to the Warrior, but Jack couldn’t see any way of stopping it.

The cables retracted back into the ceiling, pulling the Warrior’s body up by the shackles around his wrists.  At the same time, cables played out of the floor to the shackles around his ankles, allowing his body to be lifted.  Soon, his body was suspended in a spread-eagled position.

The Warrior suddenly lifted his head and pulled at the shackles, obviously no longer paralyzed.  His eyes fixed on Umala, and he clenched his teeth down on the thing in his mouth and made an angry sound.

Lights started flashing on the black box closest to the Warrior.  A large red light came on in its upper surface, and, three seconds later, the Warrior’s body began to convulse.  His face clenched in agony, and he groaned around the bit in his mouth.  Jack realized it was intended to stop him from swallowing his tongue or something.  He realized the black box was sending Punishment commands to his Collar.

Looking around the Room, Jack noticed that many of the other men paid scant attention to the gut-wrenching spectacle of the Warrior’s torture.  Most of them looked over briefly, but then went back to what they’d been doing – which was mostly pacing and staring into space, or sitting and staring into space, or lying down in a curled up, defensive posture.  _Not a good sign_ , thought Jack.  _Not good at all_.

The red light went off, and the Warrior slumped against his bonds.  Jack felt his own body relax in sympathy, but the respite was short-lived.  After a few seconds, the red light came back on.  Umala grinned as she watched the Warrior’s body begin to jerk against the Ropes once more.  She even started chuckling.  _This woman is a walking cliché of evil,_ thought Jack.

“Umala,” said the crime boss, “I’m ready to inspect your side of the Room.”

Umala wrenched her attention away from the Warrior’s torment with a certain reluctance, but she said, “Of course, Honored One.  Right this way.”

“Eli,” added the crime boss, “I believe I’ve seen enough of your Wrestling operation for this visit.  Why don’t you put your males in their cells, and then join us?”

Skinny frowned, apparently unhappy to see Umala get a chance to talk to the Big Boss Lady alone.  But she looked at Jack and said, “I think I’ll put you next to Bronzy.  Come on.”

Jack followed Skinny down one of the rows of white squares.  Skinny stopped in front of an empty “cell” and gestured for Jack to go in.  Without being told, the Bronze Guy walked into the next cell.

Jack stayed outside the white line.  “So what’s the deal here?  Is there a force field or something?”

“No,” said Skinny.  “There’s nothing except the Collar.  That’s all we need to keep males in line – or hadn’t you noticed?  Now get in.”  And she followed this up with a Warning command.

Jack stepped inside the “cell.”  It was just a painted square about 12 feet by 12 feet, with nothing inside except a thin pallet and a floor fixture that appeared to be a primitive john.

“That square,” said Skinny, pointing to the lines on the floor, “marks out your allotted space.  You’re safe as long as you stay inside the white lines.  But if you step on or over the lines without a woman’s permission, your Collar will automatically start giving you maximum-intensity Punishment.  And it won’t turn off until you get back inside the lines.  Understood?”

“Yeah,” said Jack.  “I get it.”

“Good,” said Skinny.  “If you do well in the Arena,” she added, her tone upbeat, “you’ll be given a bigger and nicer cell.”  She gestured toward the “cells” near the wall.  Some were larger, and had furniture in them.  “And you’ll get extra privileges, like better food and more conversation time.  If you’re a good boy and follow all my instructions, you could end up living just as comfortably as Sweet Ass.”  And she pointed toward the largest “cell,” which was up against the far wall and had several “rooms” of furniture, including bedroom, living room, dining room, and fully equipped bathroom.  Only everything, including the bathroom, was completely open.  It was like an apartment in a goldfish bowl, only without the bowl.

Jack raised his eyebrows.  “You’ve got the stick down,” he said, “but your carrot needs work.”

Skinny gave him a perplexed look, but then her gaze shifted to the Bronze Guy and she smiled.  “You’re allowed to speak to Bronzy,” she said.  “because he’s special.  But you aren’t allowed to speak to any other males without permission.  Understood?”

Jack’s eyes narrowed.  If the men weren’t even allowed to talk to each other, that explained some of their silent listlessness.  But people in prisons usually found ways to communicate even when it was forbidden.

Skinny stepped into the Bronze Guy’s “cell” and embraced him, her hands wandering possessively over his body.  The Bronze Guy just stood there passively.  “I’ll come for you after dinner,” she said.  “I have something _new_ in mind for us.”  Then she frowned and said, “Sorry I couldn’t stop Umala from making you bind that male.  I know how you hate to do those things.”  At that, the Bronze Guy’s arms went around her, and he hid his face against her shoulder.

Jack’s eyebrows rose.  He instinctively knew that the Bronze Guy despised himself for obeying Umala’s command to bind the Warrior.  In his shoes, Jack would have felt the same.  But was he really turning to Skinny for comfort?  What was that about?

The two of them hugged for a moment.  Then Skinny began planting quick kisses all over the Bronze Guy’s face.  Her attitude was weirdly light-hearted and playful, but not mocking.  There seemed to be some genuine affection there.  With a sigh, she disengaged from him, her glance going to Umala and the crime boss walking together on the other side of the Big Room.  All the men on that side were down on their knees and elbows, with their foreheads to the ground.  Skinny gave the Bronze Guy a parting smile and said, “After dinner.”  Then she headed toward the other two women.

When Skinny had gone, Jack looked at the Bronze Guy and said, “Don’t think I ever introduced myself.  My name’s Jack O’Neill.  What’s yours?”

“Bronze Stallion,” he said.

“No,” said Jack, locking eyes with him.  “I mean your _real_ name.”

The Bronze Guy’s brows drew together.  His gaze went through Jack and into the middle distance, staring at something only he could see.  “My parents gave me a different name,” he finally said, his voice subdued.  “But I’m not that man anymore.  Now, I’m just Bronze Stallion.”

Jack’s eyes flicked away, and he shifted restlessly.  He hated to see this man so full of self-loathing.  Jack met his eyes again and said, “If you don’t want to use your real name, that’s up to you.  But I’m not calling you Bronze Stallion.  Mind if I call you Buddy?”

The man’s lips twitched.  “No.  Why should I mind?  Since coming to Ashora, I’ve had four different names.  What’s one more?”

At that moment, the Warrior’s suspended body underwent a particularly violent spasm, and his agonized cry forced its way past the bit in his mouth to reverberate through the room, echoing and re-echoing from the barren walls and floor and ceiling.  Then the echoes died away, and the Warrior slumped against his bonds.  There was a silent pause, the usual background rustling of the Big Room absent as all the men froze for a moment.

“So, Buddy,” said Jack to the Bronze Guy, “is it always this pleasant around here?”

“Pretty much,” said Buddy/Bronze Guy.  “Watching somebody getting tortured on the Ropes is the staple form of entertainment in here.”  His mouth thinned.  “And the big guy just had to ignore my warnings and get himself off to a great start.”

“How long you think she’ll keep him up there?”

Buddy gave one of his barks of unhappy laughter.  “Are you kidding?  He spat in Umala’s face.  She’ll leave him there all night.”

Jack grimaced, remembering what the Collar pain was like.  The thought of having to endure that for an entire night boggled his mind.  And then he remembered – that was probably what he was facing himself.  Tonight.

“I’m kind of surprised she didn’t put me up there, too,” said Jack.

“So am I,” said Buddy.  “I would have thought she’d want to start softening you up on the Ropes while she’s at dinner.  Until she gets back and can start working on you in more… intimate ways.  But I think she was worried about annoying Mimoisa.  So you lucked out!  You get a breather before Umala starts on you.  And then you only have to endure her for the rest of the night!  You don’t know how incredibly lucky you are.  The only other man in here who’s ever been that lucky is Sweet Ass.  So for the gods’ sake, try not to fuck it up.  Don’t give Umala an excuse to get her claws in you again.”

Buddy gestured at the suspended Warrior and said, “You don’t want to end up in the same stew as the big guy.  Tonight is just the beginning for him.  Umala won’t be satisfied till she’s reduced him to a quivering wreck.  And she will.  She’s done it to dozens of men.”  His mouth twisted.  “Including me, of course.”

“How long you been in here, Buddy?” asked Jack, his voice soft.

Buddy went into a paroxysm of “laughter.”  “Forever,” he gasped.  “For ever and ever and ever.”  It sounded more like he was choking to death than laughing.

As suddenly as it started, his strange fit ended and he shrugged.  “Actually, I don’t exactly know.  Eli came on board about a year ago, but I’d already been here for a long time.  I’m not sure how long, though.  See, before Eli came, Umala was in charge of this whole place.  So she had free rein to do whatever she wanted with all of us, not just the Fighters.  And I was her favorite toy.  I went a little crazy, I think.  Anyway, I lost track of time.”

He looked into Jack’s eyes, his gaze serious.  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a broken man.  I’ll do anything they tell me.  So don’t trust me.”

Jack felt an ache of sympathy deep within him.  This man had been a slave for years, subjected to God only knew what kinds of sadistic abuse, but his heart wasn’t dead.  He was still trying to protect others, to the extent he could.  That was impressive as hell.

Jack longed to reach out to Buddy.  He wanted to make the man realize he wasn’t worthless – far from it.  But, as so often in such situations, Jack felt unable to express what he felt.  And what could he really say to this man, anyway?  What could he say that would mean squat to someone in his predicament?

Jack stood frozen for a beat.  Then he spoke, his voice quiet and matter-of-fact.  “Every man has a breaking point,” he said.  “Even the toughest.  He wouldn’t be human if he didn’t.”

A change come over Buddy’s face.  His eyes became riveted to Jack’s, and there was a highly charged moment of wordless communication between them.

The moment was broken by a new sound in the Big Room.  Out of the corner of his eye, Jack had seen the three women leave the room a few minutes previously, through the same door they had used to enter.  The new sound was coming from the opposite wall.  Jack turned in time to see another door open.  A man came in, pushing a big wheeled cart.  Savory smells came from the cart, and Jack suddenly realized how hungry he was.  How long had it been since he’d eaten that disgusting bowl of mush that the Stumpy Blond had given him?

“Hey,” said Jack, “is that food?”

“Yeah,” said Buddy, “but not for the likes of you and me.  Real food is one of the perks they give to the guys who do well in the Arena.  The rest of us get a kind of white slop.  It’s nutritious, but not very appealing.”

A wave of annoyed disappointment went through Jack – closely followed by a wave of irritation with his own reaction.  Bad food was the least of his worries.  He needed to find a way out of this hellhole.

Jack studied the man pushing the cart.  There was something odd about him.  He walked with a kind of limp – an irregular sort of stride.  And he jingled as he walked, because there were bells in his hair.  His hair was done up in multiple plaits – as seemed to be the universal style on Ashora – but the plaits had been stiffened somehow, so that they stuck up from his head.  With the bells on the ends, his hair looked sort of like one of those medieval jester’s caps.  And the paint on his body was hot pink, loudly calling attention to his genitals and butt.  His face was painted in an exaggerated manner, too, with hot pink circles on his cheeks and the tip of his nose.  The total effect was clownish and ludicrous.

As the man walked past Jack’s cell, Jack got a good look at his face.  One side of his mouth was pulled up in a sort of half-smile, but it wasn’t really a smile.  There was something wrong with that side of his face.  And his eyes were wide and vacant, yet full of fear.

_The guy’s not all there_ , thought Jack.  He realized the man had sustained some sort of brain damage.  A head injury, or maybe a stroke.  That was why he’d been given the grunt work – he couldn’t perform in the Arena.  And evidently, he’d also been made into a sort of “fool” or clown, which was incredibly cruel.  Just the sort of thing you’d expect from Umala.  Jack felt disgusted.

On the other hand, it didn’t escape Jack’s notice that the man was permitted to walk around without supervision.  The women probably figured he wasn’t with-it enough to create any problems.  Jack wondered if there was some way he could use that…

“If you’re wondering whether you can use Squealer to help you escape,” came Buddy’s voice, “forget it.  He’s terrified of Umala.  He won’t do anything that’s against the rules.”

Jack gave Buddy an annoyed look.  He was uncomfortable that Buddy had read his mind so easily – and even more uncomfortable at what he’d been caught thinking.  Using a mentally handicapped man for his own purposes was probably not the most ethical of moves.  After all, there was a good chance it’d get the guy in trouble.

Guilt made Jack’s voice especially sharp as he snapped, “There’s gotta be a way out of here!  For _all_ of us.”  He glared at Buddy.  “But we won’t find it if we give up hope.”

Buddy looked away and started “laughing” again.  It was an ugly sound.  Jack knew that Buddy had been through hell, but the man needed to change his attitude.  This kind of thing wasn’t doing him or anybody else any good.

“Hey!” he barked.  “Snap out of it!”

Buddy abruptly stopped laughing.  In a subdued voice, he said, “Actually, there _is_ a way out of here.  In fact, there are two.”

He looked at Jack and said, “One way is to be sold out.  See, sometimes there’s a woman in the Arena audience who wants to get up close and personal with one of us.  Occasionally, the Syndicate will oblige – for a price.  There are rooms in this place that are used for renting us out.  But the Syndicate doesn’t do that for just anyone.  The woman has to have the kind of background that makes the Syndicate certain she won’t object if she finds out how we’re treated.  Occasionally, one of these women asks to buy one of us, and the offer is high enough to make it worth the Syndicate’s while.”

Buddy gave a twisted smile.  “So there’ve been a handful of men who’ve gotten out of here that way.  But I doubt their situation improved much.  ‘Cause why do you suppose a woman would be willing to pay a fortune to keep an illegal, off-the-books chattel-male hidden in her basement?”

Jack shifted restlessly.  “What’s the second way?”

Buddy smiled again.  This time, his expression was almost serene.  “The second way is the good way – losing a Combat to the Death.”  In a very soft voice, he added, “It’s not impossible, even though we’re not Fighters.  They _have_ sometimes used Wrestlers as sacrificial lambs in the Games.”  He sighed.  “If only Eli would let me go…”

“Hey!” snapped Jack.  “I don’t want to hear that!  We’re both getting out of this place – and _not_ by dying.”

Buddy looked at him, his expression bemused.  “Oh, gods,” he said, “you sound like…”  He stopped abruptly, and looked away.

But Jack realized he’d been about to say that Jack sounded like _him_.  Like the man he’d once been.  And Jack felt something unpleasant worming around in the pit of his stomach.  If he stayed in this place long enough, would he end up like Buddy?

The queasy feeling passed in a wash of anger – and resolution.  _I’m not hanging around long enough to find out,_ thought Jack.

“Look,” said Jack, his voice quiet, “I’m not asking you to actually _do_ anything.  I’m just asking for some information.  You must know a lot about this place.”

Buddy looked down.  “Sure,” he said, almost whispering.  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.  For all the good it’ll do.”

“Okay,” said Jack.  “You mentioned the audience for the Wrestling Matches wouldn’t want to see anybody get hurt, right?  Couldn’t we let them know there’s _real_ violence going down around here?”

“Don’t you think the Syndicate has thought of that?  We Wrestlers aren’t allowed to speak to the audience, or communicate with them in any way.  When we’re in the Arena putting on a show, several Trainers are watching carefully the whole time.  If a man tries anything, they use the Collar to stop him in his tracks.  And then they make up some excuse for the audience.  ‘Sorry, sisters, this male is especially unruly.  He was going to break the rules and really hurt his opponent.’  The few Wrestlers that have tried to communicate with the audience got nothing out of it except a long, long session on the Ropes.  Believe me, Jack, it’s not worth it.”

Jack thought about Sweet Ass throwing kisses and hamming it up.  Wasn’t that communicating with the audience?  But he said nothing more.

“What about the Collars?” he asked instead.  “The anti-aggression programming has flaws, doesn’t it?”

Buddy gave another bark of laughter.  “Definitely,” he said.  “Sometimes the Collar goes off just if you get really angry – even if you weren’t planning to actually _do_ anything about it.  The Trainers always think that’s good for a laugh.”

“But,” pressed Jack, looking toward the Warrior, “that guy was able to spit in Umala’s face.  That counts as aggression, doesn’t it?”

“And look what it got him,” said Buddy.

Jack held Buddy’s eyes and waited.  After a moment, Buddy sighed and looked away.  “Yeah,” he said, “sometimes the Collar misses something.  It’s rare, though.  And even when the Collar doesn’t actually _prevent_ the act of aggression, it always kicks in right afterwards.  The man goes down, Paralyzed and Punished.  So what difference does it make?”

Buddy’s eyes met Jack’s again, his gaze full of pain.  “A while back,” he said, “one of the guys in here managed to punch Umala in the face.  Broke her nose.”

“Sweet,” said Jack.

“ _No_ ,” said Buddy.  “No, it wasn’t.  Because you know what Umala did to him then?  She put him on the Ropes, and left him there.  She only let him down long enough to give him a little water, so he’d stay alive.  And so she could torment him in other ways, right there in the middle of the Big Room, in front of everyone.  At first he resisted her, but eventually he was begging for mercy and doing anything she told him.  But even then, she didn’t stop torturing him.  She put him right back up on the Ropes.  We all thought she was going to leave him there till he died, but Umala is crueler than that.  After a few days on the Ropes, he didn’t talk anymore.  When she let him down, he’d just start screaming at the sight of her.  Or trying to, cause his throat was too hoarse for much sound to come out.  That’s when she stopped the torture, and let him live.

“See, the Collar is supposed to allow Ashoran women to control men without physically harming them.  But it isn’t designed to be used so continuously.  Overuse of the Punishment function can cause brain damage.”

Jack started, and his gaze went to the “clown” who was pushing the cart around at the near end of Big Room, passing out meals to the men in the “premium cells.”

“That’s right,” said Buddy.  “You’ve already seen what’s left of the brave man who punched Umala in the face.  Are you starting to get it?”

Jack looked back at Buddy and said, “Yeah.  That settles it.  Duty calls.  The universe is going to have one less sadistic bitch in it.”

Buddy looked stunned for a moment.  Then he shook his head and looked down.  “You really _don’t_ get it,” he said.  “Any man who creates enough of a problem around here will end up like Squealer.  And if that isn’t a fate worse than death, I don’t know what is.”

“Is that when you gave up?” asked Jack, his voice soft.  “When you saw what happened to that guy?”

“Maybe,” whispered Buddy.

“Then I guess what Umala did to him served her purpose well,” said Jack.

Buddy’s head snapped up, his eyes locking with Jack’s.  He looked angry.  _Good_ , thought Jack.

“That man’s name isn’t Squealer,” said Jack.  “Did you ever know his real name?”

“Yeah,” said Buddy.  He hugged himself and looked away again.  “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

Jack decided to let the subject alone for now.  He switched tack.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” said Jack, “how come _you_ don’t have one of those extra special _nice_ little pens?  The ones where you get fed real food?  I got the feeling Skinny likes you.”

Buddy gave him a sour look.  “Don’t let Eli hear you call her ‘Skinny.’  And yeah, she likes me.  I’m her favorite, so a lot of nights I sleep in Eli’s room.  And get fed real food.”  Buddy jerked his chin toward the near end of the Big Room, where Squealer had arrived at the “apartment,” and was passing a tray to Sweet Ass.  “But I don’t get one of _those_ cells because I’m not a success in the Arena.  Eli’s always telling me the crowd would like me better if I showed more enthusiasm, but, for some strange reason, I can’t seem to manage it.  Guess we can’t all be masochistic exhibitionists like Sweet Ass.  He actually _enjoys_ the Wrestling Matches.

“Of course, even Sweet Ass didn’t enjoy what Umala did to him.  Nobody’s enough of a masochist for that.  But he does like the stuff that Eli does.  He’s jealous of my position as Eli’s favorite.”

Jack hesitated, unsure how to ask about Buddy’s relationship with the strange young woman.  His interaction with her hadn’t seemed entirely hostile.  And Jack couldn’t help thinking that if Buddy had some kind of “in” with one of the boss ladies, maybe that could prove useful, too.  “Is it something you’d mind giving up?” he asked.

Buddy’s mouth twisted again.  “Can’t say I’m thrilled with the stuff she makes me do.  On the other hand, I’m grateful to her.  She rescued me from Umala.  And at least Eli isn’t a real sadist.  I mean, she likes to play dominance games, but the stuff she’s into doesn’t even hurt much.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, and Buddy grimaced and looked away.  “Yeah,” he said, “I know.  I’m pathetic.  But Eli is capable of being kind.  In some ways.  When she first came here, and took me away from Umala, I was a basket case.  I mean, even more of a basket case than I am now.  And Eli was… nice to me.  She didn’t force me to have sex with her right away.  She helped me get some of my sanity back.”

“So,” said Jack, “first she helped you get your sanity back.  And then she…” Jack winced, “forced you to have sex with her.”  Jack couldn’t bring himself to say “raped you.”  That just sounded too weird, too melodramatic.

Buddy sighed.  “Eli doesn’t understand that there’s anything wrong with that.  And that’s not just because she’s a criminal who grew up in a criminal family.  _All_ Ashoran women think like that.  They say that men can’t be raped.”

“You sound like you know a lot about Ashora,” said Jack.  “I mean, not just the Underworld.”

“Before I came here,” said Buddy, “I spent two years as a regular chattel-male.  Of course, I thought being a chattel-male really sucked, so I resisted in every way I could.  My first Keeper got fed up and sent me back to the Bureau of Liberation.  The Bureau sent me to Orientation House for a course of ‘corrective discipline.’  Which wasn’t fun, but it was a cake walk compared to what goes on around here.  So I didn’t learn my lesson.  When I was re-assigned, I continued to resist, and my second Keeper was a Rescued woman who had it in for men anyway.  One day, this woman told me I was more trouble than I was worth, but she knew how she could get some value out of my mangy hide.  She contracted with the Syndicate to sell me to them.  Together, she and the Syndicate arranged an ‘accident,’ and the Syndicate did something to my Collar that made it report me as dead.  And that’s how I ended up here – out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

“I take it the Syndicate has people at Euthanasia House who do something similar,” said Jack.  “They make a man’s Collar report him as dead when he’s not, right?”

“Right,” said Buddy.  “The Syndicate contracts with a woman named Esestia, who’s on one of the evaluation teams at the Bureau of Liberation.  She recommends men for termination, and arranges for them to be sent to the Syndicate’s people at Euthanasia House.  The Syndicate does something to their Collars, and the men end up here.”  He gave a twisted smile.  “Officially dead.”

“You’re not dead, Buddy,” snapped Jack.  “And where there’s life, there’s hope.”

“And where there’s no hope, there’s no life,” said Buddy, his voice distant.  He suddenly seemed distracted.  Jack followed Buddy’s gaze to the “apartment” on Umala’s end of the Big Room.  There was a giant guy moving around in it.  He had to be close to seven feet tall, and built like a truck.  Like the other Fighters, his body paint was done in a more menacing style than the paint on the Wrestlers – more like war paint.  There were red and black zigzags on this body.  The upper half of his face was painted black, but there was bright red around his eyes.

“The thing is,” said Buddy, “Esestia can’t recommend just anyone for termination.  There have to be enough aggressive qualities in the man’s psych profile to make it plausible.  Most of the men she sends over here are just soldiers or warriors of some kind – but there are a few who were criminals back on their home worlds.  And there’s one,” he said, his voice suddenly full of loathing, “that really _should_ have been put down.”

Jack gestured toward the giant in Umala’s largest cell.  “I take it you’re talking about the red-eyed monster,” he said.

Buddy grimaced.  “Yeah.  They call him Bruiser.  He’s the champion of the Games.  He’s also Umala’s pet – and tool.”

Buddy kept looking toward the other side of the room, his body tense.  Now he seemed to be following the movements of the brain-damaged guy they called “Squealer.”  Squealer had taken his cart to Umala’s side of the room, and was passing out meals to the men in the “premium cells” over there.

 “Tool?” asked Jack.  “You saying he helps her torture people?  I mean, helps her freely?”

Buddy glanced over at Jack, then quickly looked down.  As if he’d suddenly remembered something.  Like maybe that Jack was scheduled to be tortured “after dinner?”  “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft.  “I’m sorry, Jack.”

Jack looked at the giant on the other side of the room.  So Umala had a “henchman?”  It figured.

The brain-damaged guy and his cart had arrived in front of Bruiser’s “cell,” but the guy wasn’t handing over Bruiser’s dinner.  He seemed frozen in place.  In fact, he seemed to be trembling, because you could hear the bells jingling in his hair.

Bruiser came to the front of his cell and yelled, “Get in here, Squealer.  _Now!_   Or I’ll tell Umala on you!  And don’t forget my dinner, you moron.”

Jack heard Buddy make a choked sound, and saw him turn away.  In fact, most of the men in the Big Room were directing their gaze away from Bruiser’s cell.  A charged silence had descended over the room.

_Crap_ , thought Jack.  _Something bad is about to happen._

The brain-damaged man took a tray out of the cart, his movements jerky.  In the silence, the jingling of his bells was very clear.  Then he crossed the white line, into Bruiser’s cell.

Bruiser immediately seized the tray and put it on a table.  Then he seized Squealer by the hair.  Squealer began making high-pitched whimpering sounds as Bruiser dragged him to a chair and forced him to bend over it.

Jack realized what was going to happen and quickly turned away.  But he couldn’t block out the sounds.  Squealer began keening and wailing in a way that sounded barely human – but was nevertheless heart-rending.  Clearly, this was how Squealer had gotten his name.

Jack swallowed his bile, and then swallowed all his emotions.  He took all his pity and horror and dumped them in his mental cellar.  He took his fears about what was going to happen to him later that night, and dropped them in there, too.  Then he closed the huge, heavy trap door in his head and turned the wheel to lock it.  When he was done, his mind was cold and clear.  He was sharply aware of everything around him – yet his inner self felt one step removed from it all.

Which was a good thing, because the Warrior had begun to scream again, adding his cries of agony to the piteous wailing coming from the brain-damaged guy.  _God_ , thought Jack.  _This really_ is _the pit of hell._

It reminded him a lot of Sokar’s hell moon, Ne’tu.  Only without the fancy ambience – no burning pits of lava or spooky caverns or other over-the-top Goa’uld touches.  This was the no-frills version of hell.  The _human_ version.  Just a big, grey warehouse stuffed to the ceiling with anguish and despair.

Jack experienced an uncharacteristic moment of philosophical sadness.  Why did people have to do this kind of shit to one another?

There was no point in asking.  They just did.  Always had.  There was always somebody out there who felt they were high-and-mighty enough to take and use and kill as they pleased.  If it wasn’t some power-hungry dictator or corrupt regime, it was some bunch of fanatics with a lunatic scheme for creating the perfect society.  The Goa’uld weren’t the only would-be gods around.

That was why Jack had become a soldier.  Sure, war was hell, but the point was to keep the bad stuff away from the civilians back home.  Some of it, anyway.  Jack was perfectly willing to go to hell and back if it meant some kid wouldn’t have to.  After all, he was a ruthless bastard.  Better him than someone softer or nicer.

Jack closed his eyes, gathering himself.  He knew that very bad things would soon start happening to him, but he also knew he would endure.  He would survive whatever the bitches and sons of bitches threw at him.

He would survive so that he could kill them.


	12. When You See a Ghost

The sun was warm, but offset by a soft, cool breeze.  It was a typical day in Ashora City – the sort of mild, sunny day that was common here all year long.  The pleasant climate was one of the reasons the Founders had chosen this spot to plant their first settlement.

_Too bad they didn’t get anything else right,_ thought Sam.  _The perfect matriarchal society_ – _what a joke.  What a scam!_ She lay in her deck chair and tried to look like just another Ashoran enjoying the Water Gardens on her day off.  She was surrounded by the splash and glint of water, from fountains, artificial waterfalls, and dozens of interlocking pools.  Children played and shouted, while adults swam, conversed, or soaked up the sun.  Sam felt so different and distant from the Ashorans around her that she had to keep reassuring herself no one could tell, just by looking at her, how utterly she didn’t belong.

She had never belonged on this world.  Her subconscious had been trying to tell her that all along, but she had dismissed her gut instincts and believed the Ashorans’ lies instead.  She had tried so hard to fit in, to become the woman they told her she was.  And because of that, Jack was dead.

Finding that her body had become very tense, Sam forced her muscles to relax.  She was just an Ashoran woman enjoying the Water Gardens, waiting for her friend to join her.

Sam scanned the crowd, but Ifefal still hadn’t shown up.  Well, it was early.  Sam had felt the need to get out here and get started.  Today, hopefully, they would get Ifefal to join their little counter-conspiracy.  And it was about time!  It had been five days since Jack’s death!

The pace at which their plot was progressing was very frustrating to Sam.  But they’d had to prepare carefully before approaching Ifefal.  If the New Start Program realized that Sam was once again in contact with another Program subject, they would be extremely alarmed.  And in any case, their little counter-conspiracy needed a reliable method of eluding the New Start Program’s surveillance.  So Sam had cobbled together certain devices for herself and Lagash.

Yesterday, Sam had walked out to her favorite bench in Great Park, set her little relay station underneath, and shunted her homing signal there.  That had allowed her to approach Ifefal in the Bureau of Liberation lunchroom while the homing beacon indicated to the Program that Sam was in Great Park.  Sam had struck up a conversation with Ifefal, and then invited her to get together at the Water Gardens today.  Fortunately, Ifefal had seemed almost pathetically pleased by the invitation.  Sam had prepared one of the location shunts for Ifefal as well, but until she was recruited, they had to foil the Program’s surveillance by other means.  That was why it was important this meeting took place in the Water Gardens.

Sam sighed.  She was tired.  In the days since Jack’s death, she had slept little.  She had been working feverishly on planning their escape from Ashora.  On planning _Daniel’s_ escape, really – he was the one that mattered.  And, on some fronts, she had accomplished a good deal.  She refused to permit herself to feel discouraged.

Besides creating a means to fool the New Start Program’s electronic surveillance, Sam had stolen the single IDC transmitter that had been preserved in the Patriarchal Technology Collection, and substituted a dummy she had created.  Daniel had explained about the iris on Earth’s Stargate, so getting hold of the one remaining device that could open the iris was vital to their escape.  Fortunately, the Patriarchal Technology Collection was one of the more public and nonsensitive areas of Government House, so the security on it wasn’t very tight.

Unlike the security on the Ashoran Stargate Facility.

Sam felt her forehead crease with worry as she thought about the problems that remained to be solved if she was ever going to get Daniel off this terrible planet of lies.  She had discovered everything she could about the security measures that protected the Ashoran Stargate Facility, and wracked her brain trying to come up with ways around them.  When it came to the automated security measures, she had made progress.  Not only were electronics her area of expertise, but Nara had proven to be a big help.  It turned out Nara belonged to a underground group of Ashoran dissidents that dedicated themselves to uncovering Government corruption, and were willing to break the law to do it.  Nara was an expert on hacking into secure computer networks and bypassing electronic alarms.

The real hurdle was the Stargate’s flesh-and-blood security measures.  Thirty soldiers of the Ashoran Defense Forces were on duty at the Stargate Facility at all times.  With another sixty barracked just five minutes away!  She had expected there to be guards, but not so many.  Sam worked at the Bureau of Defense, so she felt certain she would be able to steal a few military-grade weapons, and even a few personal cloaking devices.  But the soldiers at the ‘Gate would be armed with the same sophisticated weapons, and would have counter-cloaking devices as well.  And their numbers were so much greater!  Even if Sam’s group made it past the security foyer and into the ‘Gate Room, how the hell would they be able to hold off that many soldiers long enough to dial out?

For a while, Sam had thought their best bet was to just walk off the planet using false identities and fake Stargate visas.  Nara’s friends in the underground knew all about forging authorizations, faking IDs, and creating disguises that included electronic masking of neural implant signatures.  But the Stargate Facility’s identification process was the most sophisticated on the planet, and their party included two males, which was bound to attract notice.  Sons of Ashora rarely went out through the Stargate, and chattel-males virtually never did.

So they had considered trying to disguise Daniel as a woman.  Nara said her friends could do wonders with pseudo-prosthetic “make-up,” including giving Daniel breasts.  They had talked about turning Daniel into a very fat woman, and hiding his Collar under the fake wattle on his neck.  But in the end, Nara had reported that her friends didn’t think it would work.  They could create false identities that would fool most screening portals, but not the one at the Stargate.  In particular, they didn’t think they could successfully mask the signatures from the men’s Collars.

So now, Sam was back to trying to figure out how four people could sneak or fight their way past an entire battalion.  And she regretted everything that Nara’s friends had learned about their group.  The more people that knew about them, the greater the risk of being discovered.

And – as if that weren’t enough – there was still the issue of the men’s Collars.  The Government had override access to all Collars on Ashora, which meant that the soldiers at the Stargate would be able to attack Lagash and Daniel through their Collars.  In Daniel’s case, they could do more than just paralyze and torture him.  The Black Collars contained an ultimate fail-safe – a Death command.

Sam felt a shiver run through her as she thought about the Death command.  It was one of the reasons she was so worried about Daniel’s safety.  She _had_ to find a way to disable his Collar, but that was, if anything, even more difficult than getting into the ‘Gate Room.  After all, the Collar System was the backbone of Ashoran society.  It incorporated multiple layers of security, with fail-safes and triple-redundancies galore.  Sam had begun trying to study the Collar System – on top of everything else – but she had to admit, she was feeling overwhelmed.  The Collar involved an electronic interface with the human brain, and Sam knew almost nothing about neurology.

That was another reason why Ifefal was so important to their plans.  Besides working inside the Bureau of Liberation – where the Stargate was located – Ifefal was a physician.  And her specialty was Collar neurology!  Sam was hoping that by working together, she and Ifefal would be able to crack the Collar System’s security measures.  She was also hoping that Ifefal would provide some sort of inside knowledge about the Bureau of Liberation that Sam hadn’t been able to access – something that would suggest a way to distract or disable the soldiers guarding the Stargate.

Sam didn’t like pinning so many hopes on a woman she barely knew.  But she had little choice.  Because, so far, Sam hadn’t been able to come up with an escape plan that she considered even halfway viable.

She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment.  She really was very tired.  Lagash had begun nagging her to get more sleep.  His admonitions filled Sam with conflicting emotions.  On the one hand, the logical part of her mind acknowledged that he was right.  On the other, it reminded her too much of the role he had played as her ever-solicitous “husband.”

Sam still hadn’t told Lagash about Daniel, or about Nara and Neralo, and she had no intention of telling him until she absolutely had to.  After what she had been through with him, how could she ever entirely trust him again?  Even though the Program had deceived him, too, and he seemed so full of sorrow and guilt.  Still… how could she forget that morning in the kitchen, when Lagash had played on her trust to make her doubt Jack?  If only she hadn’t run off to Great Park that day.  If only she had stayed with Jack….

“Good morning, beautiful,” his voice said.  Sam turned in his arms, luxuriating in the feel of his skin against hers, and looked into his face.  He was smiling that special smile she loved so much, that smile that barely touched his mouth but shone in his eyes.

She was following him down a corridor in the SGC.  Daniel and Teal’c were behind her.  She was watching his long, purposeful stride – watching his rear end.  _Stop that, Sam,_ she told herself.  She felt heat in her face.

Then she passed out of the small patch of sun, and back into the shadows of the trees.  She was following the Colonel down a forest path.  Daniel and Teal’c were behind her.  Amazingly, Daniel had decided to stop talking, and she was grateful, because it allowed her to just drink in the beauty of this forest.  The only sounds were the scrunching of their boots and the occasional twitter of birds.  The tree trunks were massive, like great pillars, and the overarching branches were like a vaulted ceiling far overhead.  Walking through this enormous, leafy cathedral with her team was so serenely pleasant.

The Colonel signaled a halt, and Sam snapped to wary alertness – until he turned toward her, and she saw the quirk of his lips.  Over his shoulder, something came.  A small, fluttering disturbance in the air.  The disturbance hovered before her, and Sam was startled by glimpses of a face.  Her own face!  She realized she was watching two butterfly-like creatures dancing around one another, but their broad wings were like mirrors.  The result was a delicate mirage – snatches of her own wonder-filled expression superimposed on the greens and browns of the forest.  Sam felt a wave of delight, and saw it reflected back at her.

Then she felt a familiar, masculine presence at her side, and another face joined hers in the ephemeral mirror.  Flashes of his mischievous dark eyes and angular features intermingled with flickers of her wide blue gaze and girlish grin.  The magic lasted only a few seconds, but Sam was mesmerized.  When the mirror-winged creatures abruptly flitted upward, Sam followed the glimmer of their path until it blended into the dappled light of the forest canopy.  Then she cast her gaze toward Jack, and their eyes met.

It was a subtle thing.  A brief, shared glance before he turned and started moving forward again.  But it made her feel so … complete.

The forest shredded in a child’s shout.  Sam opened her eyes and winced at the sunny blue sky.  She was surrounded by splashing water and Ashoran voices – and the reality that Jack was gone.

She had dozed off!  What a fine thing to do at a critical time like this.  Sam sat up, feeling dazed.  In her dreams, she never remembered that Jack was dead.  He was always so alive, so _present_.  They were good dreams, but then she had to wake up and feel the grief all over again.

When she’d described her dreams to Daniel, he’d become very excited.  He’d said they contained memories from her former life, which proved the memories were still down there in her mind somewhere, and could be recovered.  Sam had already realized that, of course.  But the truth was, she couldn’t decide if she really wanted to recover them.  On the one hand, she wanted to remember more about Jack.  But on the other, wouldn’t that just make the loss greater?

As for the rest of her former life, Sam couldn’t seem to care much one way or the other.  The prospect of returning to Earth didn’t mean anything to her.  She would probably end up going there, just as a side effect of delivering Daniel there.  But if she had her druthers, she’d stay here – so she could go after the people who had murdered Jack.

And made her an accomplice.

Sam raised her head and scanned the crowd again – and there was Ifefal.  When their gazes met, Ifefal smiled and waved energetically.  Sam smiled back with what she hoped looked like enthusiasm.  Ifefal was already wearing her swimsuit – a high-cut brief patterned with bright flowers.  She was carrying a hamper, and had a blanket over her shoulder.  As she approached, Sam confirmed that Ifefal wasn’t wearing her data-wristlet.  That was one of the reasons Sam and Lagash had chosen the Water Gardens for this rendezvous.  People customarily left their data-wristlets in the locker room.

Ifefal reached Sam and said, “Hi, Jamora!  Hope I’m not late.”  She exuded bouncy sociability.

“Not at all,” said Sam.  “Your timing is perfect.”

Ifefal grinned at that, and held up her hamper.  “It _is_ about lunch time, isn’t it?  Hungry?”

“Yep,” said Sam – though she wasn’t.  She hadn’t had much appetite lately.

She and Ifefal walked over to a grassy, landscaped area, and Sam helped Ifefal spread her blanket in the shade of some umbrella trees.  Then they sat on the blanket and began unpacking the hamper.  When Sam had suggested a picnic lunch, Ifefal had insisted on being the one to bring it, and Sam saw that she had taken care with the preparation.  She’d provided sandwich rolls, fresh fruit, salad, and cool drinks, along with disposable plates and cups that featured a cutesy interpretation of traditional marine themes.

Sam forced herself to eat, and feigned interest in Ifefal’s small talk.  Ifefal seemed friendly and cheerful, but Sam couldn’t help feeling she was trying too hard.  It was always like that with Ifefal.  She always seemed just a little too eager to please.

Lagash had commented on Ifefal’s demeanor when Sam showed him the holographic recording of their evaluation team’s session.  That had been a memorable conversation….

*****

Watching the recording filled Sam with a strong sense of dislocation.  As she observed Ifefal, Ashasti, Esestia, and herself passing judgment on Jack and Daniel, she couldn’t believe those events had taken place less than a week ago.  It seemed like another life.  In a sense, it had been, because she had believed herself to be someone else altogether.

Sam was playing the recording at Lagash’s request.  He leaned forward and watched with his knuckles on his mouth, his brow furrowed.  His whole attention was on Ifefal.

When it finished, he straightened and shook his head.  “She’s reverted to her old patterns,” he said, sounding upset.  “The lack of confidence, the constant need for approval – those are legacies of her abusive patriarchal upbringing.  Along with the habit of pretending to be stupid, when she’s actually brilliant.  On the world where she grew up, intelligence in women is frowned upon.”

“How do you know that, Lagash?” asked Sam.  “How do you know what Ifefal’s home world is like?”

“It was all in her case file – how the Liberation Team found her, what she said about herself before her memory was erased, what the Bureau of Liberation knows about her original society.”

“But that case file came from the New Start Program.  So how do you know any of it is really true?  After all, my case file said I _consented_ to having my memory erased.  And there’s no way I would have done that!  I know it in my gut.”  Sam found herself tensing with anger, the deep anger that seemed to pulse inside her all the time now, providing the only real counterpoint to her grief.

“Yes,” said Lagash.  “The Program is a maze of secrets and hidden agendas.  It deceived me about a lot of things.  I understand that now.  I’m so sorry I didn’t understand it sooner.”  Lagash’s expressive eyes fixed on her face, subtly pleading for forgiveness.  And as so often happened when she interacted with Lagash, Sam found herself fighting down a roiling mix of painful, conflicting emotions.  She didn’t have time for all that.  Lagash had become a vital ally in her struggle to get Daniel to safety, and that was all that really mattered.  Sam gave Lagash a carefully neutral expression, and after a moment, he sighed and went on.

“But in Ifefal’s case, I don’t think the Program needed to lie.  I think Ifefal is exactly the sort of Rescued woman that she’s supposed to be – someone who’s memories were so terrible that she really did agree to have them erased.”

“How can you know that, Lagash?”

“I guess I can’t be absolutely certain.  But the thing about the Erasure Process is that, though it erases conscious memories, there’s always a subconscious residue.  And I think I’ve learned to see that in my clients.  My intuition tells me that Ifefal really was abused her whole life.  The signs were there – in her anxious, deferential behavior.  I’ve seen that in a lot of my clients.

“That’s why I believe her case file.  It says that Ifefal was married off by her father at the age of twelve, becoming the third wife of a man forty years her senior.  Her husband abused her – physically, sexually, and emotionally.  She bore him several children, most of whom died in infancy.  But a daughter survived to the age of five – until Ifefal’s husband beat the little girl to death in a fit of rage.  That was when Ifefal snapped, and killed her husband with a kitchen knife.  But, of course, her society then found her guilty of murder.  And in Ifefal’s culture, the punishment for a woman who kills her husband is a peculiarly cruel form of execution – to be buried in the ground up to her neck, and left there to die.  That was how the Ashoran Liberation Team found her – nearly dead of thirst and exposure.”

Sam blinked in horror.  If this story was true, maybe Ifefal really _had_ agreed have her memories erased.

“You were always different, Sam,” said Lagash.  “In your case, it was clear you’d been through a terrible trauma.  You even remembered some of it.  But, despite that, you always had a certain fundamental self-esteem that most of my clients have lacked.”  Lagash looked away, his voice becoming soft.  “I know you don’t think much of me anymore, Sam, and I can’t blame you.  But I truly never meant to hurt you.  I honestly believed I was doing something good for my clients.  Most of the time, I could see the improvement.”  He turned back to Sam, looking puzzled and deeply dismayed.  “Before the New Start Program took me off her case, Ifefal was showing much greater confidence and self-esteem.  I swear she was.  I hated being separated from her, but I thought at least I’d helped her find her strength.”

Sam felt a rush of anger at Lagash’s cluelessness.  She wanted to say, “Lagash, the way the New Start Program took you off Ifefal’s ‘case’ was by faking your death.  They made her believe she’d been widowed.  Don’t you think that must have had an impact on her?  In fact, didn’t it ever occur to you that all the Program’s Subjects probably feel pretty torn up when they lose the ‘husband’ they relied on as they stumbled around with no memory?  The ‘husband’ they’ve probably come to care about?  How could you ever have believed that the New Start Program exists to help its Subjects, when it makes a practice of re-traumatizing them?”

But Sam said nothing.  The analytical part of her mind told her to let it go.  She needed Lagash, so why get into it with him?  What purpose would it serve?  But as she looked into his big, brown eyes, his so-familiar face, Sam was furious to find herself fighting tears.  She wished she could just despise Lagash, but it wasn’t so simple.  Though she’d never been in love with him the way she had with Jack, she had certainly felt very close to him.  She couldn’t help imagining how devastated she would once have felt if she had thought that Lagash was dead, and the thought was like a knife twisting in her heart.

Because now, instead, it was Jack that was dead.

*****

“Jamora?  Are you all right?”

Sam snapped back to the present with a mental start, and realized that Ifefal was regarding her with concern.  _What’s wrong with me?_ she thought.  _First I doze off, and now I let my mind wander so badly that Ifefal notices._

“It’s nothing,” said Sam.  “It’s just…”  Sam stopped.  She’d been about to make some bland excuse, but as she looked into Ifefal’s eyes, she found herself abandoning it.  “To tell you the truth,” she said instead, “I’ve had some things on my mind lately.  I’m sorry.  I’m not being very good company.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Ifefal.  And suddenly, Sam could see the intelligence in her eyes.  And the gentle concern.  She had to remember that though Ifefal often acted like an airhead, she really wasn’t.

Sam smiled.  “Maybe.  Maybe sometime soon, I’ll tell you about it.  But not just now.  What were you saying about that male they brought in yesterday?”

Ifefal took the hint, and went back to gossiping about work.  Soon, she was chattering brightly again, and Sam had to wonder about the history in her case file.  Was it true?  Did this child-like young woman really have such suffering buried in her subconscious?  And if she did, didn’t that raise questions about how Ifefal would react when they revealed the truth to her?  Sam was relying on Lagash’s judgment here, which made her uneasy, but she didn’t see that she had a choice.  They needed Ifefal.

During the rest of the meal, Sam tried to become more engaged in the conversation.  And, surprisingly, she soon found that she was.  She found herself taking a liking to Ifefal, and began to feel a renewed sense of hope.  Maybe Ifefal would indeed prove to be just the person their little conspiracy needed.

As they packed away the remains of lunch, Sam knew the time had come.  “Have you ever seen the shrine here, Ifefal?” she asked.

“No,” said Ifefal.  “I didn’t know they had one.”

“They do!  It’s small, but very nice.  Since we shouldn’t go into the water right away, why don’t we walk over there?”

“Sure,” said Ifefal.

They left the hamper and blanket on a couple of deck chairs to mark their place, and then Sam began leading Ifefal toward the edge of the Water Gardens.  The Garden’s pools were separated by artificial rock outcrops, sort of like what you might find on a mountainside.  They were landscaped, and many featured waterfalls.

Just beyond the Water Gardens was another of the rocky “hills.”  This one was crowned with several golden Horn Totems.  In its side was the opening of an artificial cave.  The place was a shrine, designed to mimic the mountain caves that had been used to worship the Goddess since the most ancient times.

Sam and Ifefal entered the mouth of the cave.  After turning a corner, they found themselves inside a woman-made grotto.  The bright sunlight, shouts, and laughter of the Water Gardens were replaced by cool, quiet dimness, but the sound of water did not entirely disappear.  A soft burble remained, from a little cascade that ran down one of the walls.  In the uneven surface of another wall, carvings could be discerned.  They depicted the Goddess as Lady of the Animals, with many different creatures gathered around her.  Recessed lighting subtly emphasized the shapes of the carvings, and glowed in the crystal stalactites that decorated the ceiling.

Ifefal turned to Sam and smiled.  “This is nice,” she whispered.

Sam smiled in response.  For a moment, she almost forgot what she had learned about the true nature of this world.  She found herself remembering the feelings she’d had as ‘Jamora,’ when she’d thought of the Goddess as her protector.  There had been times she’d truly felt touched by some vast, healing presence.

Sam shook off the memories.  _Keep your eye on the ball,_ she told herself.  The next few moments were crucial.

“This isn’t the best part,” she said to Ifefal.  “The best thing about this shrine is the meditation rooms.  Come on, I’ll show you.”

Sam led Ifefal into a corridor that opened off the main cavern.  Doors lined the corridor.  Sam counted until she came to the fifth door on the right.  The indicator on the door showed that the room was occupied, but Sam placed herself so that her body hid the indicator from Ifefal.

“Let’s go in here,” she said.  “This room is special.”

Sam swung the door inward and gestured toward the far wall.  A niche in the wall held an upright golden double-ax, shining softly.  When Ifefal entered, her eyes on the double-ax, Sam closed and locked the door.  It shut with an air-tight _snick_ ; the meditation rooms were sound-proofed.

Ifefal turned toward Sam.  “Yes, it’s…”  Her sentence cut off with a gasp as she saw the man who’d been hiding behind the door.  Ifefal’s mouth dropped open, working soundlessly.  Her eyes were huge with disbelief.

_Yes_ , thought Sam.  _Guess that’s how you look when you see a ghost._

“It’s me, Iffi,” said Lagash.  His voice was choked, his eyes moist.  “It’s really me.  I didn’t really die.”

Ifefal made a sound, a strange, inarticulate sound so heavy with emotion it made Sam’s throat close up to hear it.  She took a tentative step forward, and reached out a trembling hand to touch Lagash’s face.  When her fingers touched his skin, a shudder went through her, and she cried out again.  The look on her face was so raw, so exposed, that Sam felt like an intruder for witnessing it.

Ifefal’s cry broke and stuttered, turning into wild sobs of joy.  Suddenly, she was clutching at Lagash, alternately pressing herself against him and pulling away to look into his face.  Her hands wandered over his body in wonder, stroking his hair, squeezing his shoulders, caressing his cheek.  “You’re here,” she said, her voice so racked with sobs the words were almost unintelligible.  “You’re here.  You’re here.”

Lagash was sobbing, too.  “Yes,” he said, “I’m here, Iffi.  And I’ll never leave you again!”

Sam stood to the side, watching.  The scene blurred as she found herself crying helplessly.

*****

“…so of course,” Teshini was saying, “I didn’t let him get away with that.  I applied a dose of Punishment right away.  I tell you, it’s foolish to yield to your concubine in even the smallest matter.  _Especially_ if he’s extremely handsome, like my Smooth Thighs.  Males always know when they’re handsome, and it always goes right to their little heads.  Give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile.”

“You’re right, of course,” said Panala.  “But I find the best way to keep a concubine in his place is to always have more than one.  I always have the full complement of three, and if any of them displeases me in the slightest, I’m quick to drop him and Claim another.  That let’s all of them know where they stand.  It’s amazing how pleasant a male becomes when he realizes how easily he can be replaced!”

Ifefal was only half-listening to the conversation between her “friends” from the Bureau of Liberation.  As usual, a not-so-subtle game of male-bashing one-upsmanship was taking place between Teshini and Panala.  Like most of the women who worked at the Bureau, they were Scrupulists, and they always seemed to be competing to prove who was the most Scrupulous in keeping males down.

Ifefal felt bemused.  She remembered that winning these women’s acceptance had once seemed terribly important to her, but she could no longer remember why.  She didn’t even like them much.  She liked Sam so much better!  It was amazing how greatly her perspective had changed in the last five days.  When Teshini and Panala had invited her to come with them, she hadn’t even really wanted to go, but Jefesesh had emphasized how important it was to maintain her usual routines.  They shouldn’t give the New Start Program any reason to suspect anything had changed.

Ifefal smiled softly to herself as she thought about how completely _everything_ had changed.  Jefesesh was alive!  Well, he was known as Lagash now – though actually, his true name was Ilesh.  Whatever!  His name didn’t matter.  All that mattered was that he was alive, and he loved her.  He loved her so much he was willing to defy the shadowy Government Program that controlled his Collar in order to be with her.  He was even willing to defy his own mother!

Her whole life had been turned upside-down, and she was glad – even though some of what she had learned was disturbing.  Ifefal now knew that she hadn’t really lost her memory as the result of an air car crash that killed her whole family, and hadn’t really grown up on an isolated farmstead on one of the frontier continents.  She hadn’t grown up on Ashora at all, but on some benighted patriarchal planet.  Whenever Ifefal thought about that, something deep inside her seemed to shift ominously, creating a feeling of dread.

So she didn’t think about it.  She hadn’t asked anything about her patriarchal past, because she didn’t want to know.  She wasn’t interested in the past, only in the future.

At first, the thought of leaving Ashora had made Ifefal extremely uneasy.  But Sam had assured her that Earth wasn’t patriarchal – or, at least, Sam’s nation wasn’t.  And if she wanted to be with the man she loved, they had to leave Ashora.  They wouldn’t be safe until they did.

Ifefal had thrown herself into helping Sam with the escape plan.  Thanks to the false homing beacon that Sam had set up for her, Ifefal could now visit Sam and Lagash without the knowledge of the New Start Program.  And working with Sam was great!  Sam was so smart and strong, and so genuinely nice, too.  Even though cracking the Collar System wasn’t easy, Ifefal felt confident that they’d succeed eventually.  She only wished she could help Sam with the problem of all the soldiers at the Stargate, but that just wasn’t her area of expertise.

Sam was so inspiring.  Ifefal could see that she was in deep mourning over the death of her lover, Jack, and knew that her grief was darkened by guilt.  But despite that, Sam never gave up.  That was a revelation to Ifefal, who couldn’t help but compare Sam’s courageous perseverance to the deep sense of failure that had plagued her after Lagash’s apparent death.

A tightness came into Ifefal’s chest as she thought about what had happened last night between herself and Lagash.  She’d felt so overjoyed to have him back.  And she’d believed that joy was all she felt – but she’d surprised herself.  Last night, when she and Lagash were alone together, a torrent of anger and hurt had suddenly come spilling out of her.  She’d begun crying hysterically, and screaming at him:  “If you love me, how could you have abandoned me like that?  How could you have let me believe you were dead?”

Lagash had begun weeping, too, begging her forgiveness and saying that he hadn’t believed she really needed him.  He explained how his mother had convinced him that Ifefal didn’t truly love him, and would be better off without him.  Suddenly, Lagash had begun screaming and raging, too – at his mother and the New Start Program.  He’d started throwing things and smashing furniture.

Ifefal had been stunned.  Ashoran men weren’t supposed to show anger like that.  In the end, when Lagash had collapsed into a sobbing heap on the floor, Ifefal had gone to him and wrapped her arms around him.  She’d told him that she understood – and somehow, she really did.  Something deep inside her seemed to know exactly what he’d been raging about – what it felt like to be taught, all your life, that you are inferior and insignificant and unworthy of love.

As she remembered that moment, Ifefal suddenly realized that she needed to talk to Sam.  Sam hadn’t entirely forgiven Lagash for his role in Jack’s death.  And now that Ifefal had forgiven Lagash herself, she could see how that unresolved knot of guilt was causing unnecessary pain for both Sam and Lagash.

“Hellooo.  Anybody home?”

Ifefal became aware that Panala was addressing her.  “Huh?” she said.

Panala rolled her eyes.  “I was just asking if you’ve seen the new male yet, Ifefal.”

“What new male?”

“The one they call Hard Gold,” said Panala.

“Panala is quite taken with him,” put in Teshini, “though I can’t think why.  In my opinion, Sweet Ass is _much_ better looking.”

“No,” said Ifefal.  “I don’t think I’ve seen that male.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat!” said Panala.  “He’s on the program tonight.  And he’s so funny!  A real ham.  Except when it comes time to receive his reward – then he turns shy.  But I think it’s kind of cute.”

At that moment, the lights went out, accompanied by a dramatic swell of music.  Then multi-colored beams began dancing over the sands of the Arena, and a woman’s amplified voice boomed out.

“Welcome, sisters!” the voice said.  “Welcome to the darkness!”


	13. Imagining Things

Jack tilted his head back, letting the water massage his scalp and stream over his face.  He concentrated on the feel of the warm water, and on the white noise it made as it pattered against the floor of the shower and thrummed against his skull.  With his eyes closed, it could have been any shower.  He could almost pretend he was in his own bathroom back home.  Yep.  In his own comfortable, familiar Earth house, with lots of beer in the refrigerator, and lots of episodes of The Simpsons waiting on the DVR….

The momentary illusion was shattered by a loud, masculine groan, which was followed by malicious, feminine laughter.  Jack turned away from the sounds, trying to immerse his head even more completely in the water.  He didn’t have to look to know that Hetrisha was once again tormenting Red Panther.  The Trainers often felt inspired to amuse themselves with the men when they hit the showers after practice.  Predictably, the man’s groans became more rhythmic, and took on an intense, conflicted quality that made it difficult to decide whether he was expressing pain or pleasure.

Jack sighed.  That was impossible to block out.  He could no longer make himself believe he was somewhere else, not even for a second.  He opened his eyes and looked down, at the water swirling into the drain at his feet.  For a moment, it was as if he could feel his hopes going down that drain, too, but he quickly suppressed the feeling.  So Buddy had given him some bad news this morning; so Plan A looked like a no-go.  What else was new?  _Plan A never pans out anyway_ , he thought.  Besides, _this_ Plan A had never much of a plan.It had been no more than a vague notion, but sometimes you had to improvise.  The damn Collar severely limited his options.

His “plan” meant going along with Elal’s attempt to make him a “star” of the Arena.  And that meant getting “rewarded,” which he hated, but after what he’d been through _outside_ the Arena, it no longer seemed like that big a deal.  His strategy was to ham it up in the Arena, to develop a repertoire of gestures and body language that some members of the audience would hopefully start to recognize.  If he created a rapport with some of the women in the crowd, then maybe, one day, he’d be able to communicate something to them.  Some kind of SOS that they would pick up on, but that wouldn’t be obvious to the watching Trainers.  Then maybe one of his fans would go to the authorities, and get them to raid this place.

_Maybe, maybe, maybe,_ he thought.  _Yeah, that was some plan._

It wasn’t as if the Ashoran authorities were exactly on his side.  After all, they’d tried to kill him, and might be inclined to try again.  But he was perfectly willing to risk that if it meant escaping from this circus of horrors.  If he got back “Above Ground,” maybe Sam would find out he was alive.  Maybe he would see her again!  And even if things didn’t work out for him, at least the rest of the guys would be out of this place.  Anywhere would be better than here.

Jack glanced over at Buddy, who was using the shower next to him.  There were no partitions separating the shower heads.  The room was basically one big shower stall, except for a raised walkway down the middle.  There were multiple shower heads on both sides.  Eight men were using the room, washing off the sand and sweat of the Arena, while two Trainers watched them.  Well, one Trainer was watching; the other was over in the corner, doing things to Red Panther.

Buddy caught his eye for a moment, and Jack saw regret and sympathy there.  Not that Jack had ever told Buddy his “plan” – Jack didn’t trust him that far – but Buddy had probably guessed it.  Buddy had gotten disturbingly good at reading him.

Jack looked quickly away, staring at the wall.  The man aroused a lot of uncomfortable, conflicting emotions.  On the one hand, Buddy did what he could to help.  He had provided Jack with a lot of information, and was always trying to intervene with Elal on Jack’s behalf.  But on the other hand, Elal really did own him.  He might protest and plead, but in the end, he’d do anything Elal told him to do.  Including tying Jack down while he was paralyzed, much as he had done to the Warrior when Umala had put him on the Ropes.  Only this had happened in Elal’s quarters, in preparation for a different kind of torment – Elal’s sexual attentions.

There was a part of Jack that found it difficult to forgive Buddy for his small acts of collaboration, even though he knew how little they really mattered.  If Buddy had refused Elal’s commands, she would still have gotten what she wanted from Jack, because the Collar made him utterly vulnerable.  That had been made brutally clear to him during the horrific night he’d spent in Umala’s quarters.  The things Elal did to him didn’t begin to compare to that torture-and-nausea fest.

Still, he’d been thrilled to be spared Elal’s company last night.  Elal had commanded only Buddy to her quarters, leaving Jack to sleep in his “cell” for once.  But this morning, Buddy had looked solemn.  In whispered snippets, he’d passed on what had happened during the night.

Elal had asked if Buddy was jealous of Jack.  Buddy hadn’t been sure what Elal was fishing for, so he had responded that, thanks to her wonderful influence, he was now a Redeemed male who didn’t get jealous.  That, apparently, hadn’t been what she’d wanted to hear.  Elal had become highly emotional, telling Buddy that she loved him and would one day save enough money to buy him and take him away from the Arena.  That hadn’t thrilled Buddy, because he was already Elal’s slave.  If she bought him, the only thing that would really change was that he would lose the companionship of the other men.  Buddy had tried to pretend he was happy, but hadn’t quite pulled it off.  Elal had gone into a snit, and told him he could just stay at the Arena and die, then!  Because, she’d explained, the Arena was bound to get raided by the Government sometime, but the Syndicate was ready with a contingency plan.  The Trainers would escape via a hidden route, but before they left, they would destroy the evidence.  They would use the Death command in the men’s Collars to kill them all.

Jack sighed and looked down at his body, taking in the swirls of metallic gold on his chest and stomach and genitals, and the subtle, gold-dusted “glaze” that covered him everywhere else.  He felt a wave of angry disgust.  The paint didn’t wash off, no matter how hard he scrubbed.  It took a special solvent to remove it.

Suddenly, Jack felt like a pressure cooker about to blow its lid.  He felt almost overwhelmed by the impulse to _do something!_   To pound against the walls, or run screaming and attack one of the Trainers, or rip his own painted skin off!  But he fought the impulse down, keeping himself still and outwardly calm.  If he allowed the impulse to rise to the surface, the Collar would drop him in his tracks, Paralyzed and Punished.  He knew that from experience.  And that wouldn’t help him get out of here.

Trouble was, he could no longer imagine anything that would.  The one half-assed idea he’d had for escaping was a non-starter, because he now knew that if the Government ever raided this place, the Syndicate would kill all the men.

As Jack stared despondently at the blank, white wall of the shower room, he felt a kind of prickling between his shoulder blades.  He turned and looked, and had to will himself not to flinch as he found himself meeting Umala’s vicious black eyes.  She had entered the shower room and was standing on the central walkway, staring right at him.  As always, the sight of Umala sent a shock of visceral hatred, revulsion, rage, and fear through Jack’s body, but he refused to let it show.

Umala had the Warrior with her.  He was on his hands and knees behind her, his head down.  A leash ran from his Collar to Umala’s hand.  She was forcing the Warrior to act the part of a “dog.”  She’d been doing that a lot lately.  It proved how broken he already was – even though it had been only thirteen days since he and Jack had arrived in the Underworld.  Not even two weeks.

Still staring at him, Umala’s fat lips began to curl in that slow, evil smile of hers.  It was as if she could guess what he was thinking.  And as he looked into her hated face, her words came back to him – the words she had whispered at the end, right before she’d had to turn him over to Elal.  _“You think it’s over now,”_ she’d said, _“you think you’ve escaped me.  But I know you.  I already know you very well.  One day, you’ll do something defiant.  You won’t be able to help yourself.  And then, they’ll send you back to me, and I’ll finish what I’ve started.  I’ll make you mine forever.”_ Her voice seemed to reverberate in his head – he seemed to really hear it.  And the other sensations began to come back to him – the way all the muscles in his body had ached from hours of convulsing in agony; the way she had caressed his body as she whispered, making his skin crawl…

Jack abruptly looked away.  He hated to be stared down, but he could feel another flashback coming on.  He had to take a moment to gather himself, to use all his considerable discipline to grab those memories and stuff them back inside his mental cellar.  When the big door inside his head fell shut behind them, Jack breathed a sigh of relief.  It was holding.  His mental cellar was good, but not perfect.  He’d had flashbacks after Iraq, too – and nightmares.  Lately, he seemed to be able to feel a kind of pressure coming from down there.

Not for the first time, Jack wondered just how much crap his mental cellar could hold.  He wondered what would happen to him if it ever filled to capacity – if, one day, the weight of the big trap door wasn’t enough to keep it shut against the pressure of all the horror and pain and fear locked inside….

Umala’s ugly, triumphant laughter echoed through the shower room, and Jack felt his blood boil.  She was laughing because she had stared him down.  And at that moment, Jack made a decision.  It was a decision that had been hovering over him since Buddy had given him the bad news this morning – or maybe even before that.  Now, Jack embraced it.  Finally and completely.  _It’s time for Plan B,_ he thought.  Jack looked up and met Umala’s eyes again, and she must have sensed something, because her laughter faltered.

Plan B was even less of a plan than Plan A.  Plan B couldn’t be a plan, couldn’t be a conventionally premeditated course of action, because it required getting past the Collar’s anti-aggression programming.  And Jack had realized that the only way an act of violence ever got past the Collar was if it was so spontaneous and unpremeditated that the Collar wasn’t able to pick up on the thought before it became action.

It _could_ be done.  Squealer had proven it when he’d punched Umala in the face and broken her nose.  The trouble was, there wasn’t much point in hitting Umala unless it was a killing blow.  And since the action couldn’t be premeditated… well, that was the Catch-22.

But Jack had begun to think maybe he could beat it.  Because, after all, he knew a dozen ways to kill with a blow, and they were all second nature to him.  The moves were so deeply ingrained that he didn’t have to think about them consciously.  And his hatred of Umala was deeply ingrained, too.  It went all the way to the core of his soul.  In fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever hated anyone quite as much as he hated Umala – and that was saying a hell of a lot.  So Jack had begun to wonder if he could sort of program his subconscious to kill Umala.  At that moment, as he stared at her hateful, evil face and revolting body, he was absolutely certain of it.

He _could_ kill her.  He _would_ kill her.  Plan B was a go.

Jack didn’t care that Plan B was a suicide mission – at the very least.  After he killed Umala, the Syndicate would undoubtedly make an example of him.  Jack could only hope that, with Umala’s über-sadistic influence gone, the Syndicate would settle for just killing him.  Ending up like Squealer was a genuinely scary thought.

But even that thought couldn’t shake his resolve.  He was going to kill Umala, and not just for the immense personal satisfaction.  Umala was by far the most sadistic of the Trainers, and her influence seemed to bring out the worst in the others.  With Umala dead, this place would improve a little for the other men.  Since he no longer saw even a slim prospect of getting himself or anybody else out of here, eliminating Umala was the best he could do.

Umala was beginning to frown and shift uncertainly under his stare.  Jack sensed that this time, she would be the one to look away.  But their staring match was interrupted by the entrance of Elal, looking agitated.

“Goldy,” said Elal, “come here.  We need to get you dried off and ready.”

“Ready for what?” asked Jack.

That earned him a Warning and an impatient, anxious look.  “Don’t you dare be difficult now!  Just do what I tell you!”

Umala looked as if she’d tasted something sour.  “You aren’t actually going to do it,” she growled.  “This is crazy!”

Jack instantly felt more disposed to cooperate.

“Shut up, Umala!” said Elal.  “Mimoisa has ordered it!”  Turning to Jack she said, “Come _on_ , Goldy.”

Jack walked over to her, wondering what the hell was going on.  When Elal grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward the door, he went along with it.  She pulled him down the hall and into the drying room, where warm streams of air played over his skin.  When he was dry, Elal grabbed his arm again.  But by that time, Jack felt himself to be in the right frame of mind to dig in his heels without setting off his Collar.

“Goldy!” she snapped, glaring at him.  “Don’t start!  Do you want to be Punished?”

Jack was intensely aware of her hand on his arm, and of the proximity of her skinny body.  He met her hazel eyes and glared back.  He hated Elal, but the hatred wasn’t as pure as what he felt for Umala.  Which, in itself, was one of the reasons he hated Elal.  Because there was one thing about rape on Ashora that was different from rape as it had existed throughout history.  An Ashoran woman could force a man to experience sexual ecstasy when she raped him – if she chose to.  And Elal had.  She was such a sick puppy that she regarded what she did to him as an expression of affection.

“No,” Jack snapped back at her, “but I want to know what’s going on.”

Elal pouted for a moment, then gave him a coaxing smile.  “Don’t worry, Goldy!  This is a _good_ thing.  For both of us.”  She smiled wider, and now she seemed excited.  “I _knew_ you’d do well in the Arena.  And you have!  You’re already building a following.  And now, you’ve attracted the attention of an very, very rich and important woman!  She’s here right now, and she wants to meet you in person!”

Jack felt his stomach lurch.  He knew what that meant.  He was about to be pimped out.

“Don’t get that look, Goldy.  It’s nothing bad.  She just wants to have sex with you.  And she’s a very attractive woman!  You’ll like her!”

Jack just looked at her.  For a moment, he couldn’t believe that even a whack-job like Elal could even _pretend_ to be so obtuse.  Not after everything that had passed between them.

That first night in Elal’s rooms, he’d refused to perform the sexual acts she’d demanded of him.  Even though Umala had taught him just how helpless the Collar made him.  Even though he knew that, unlike Umala, Elal wasn’t limited to a single night with him.  She could torture him night after night, day after day.  When Elal had begun to Punish him for his refusal, Jack had felt very fatalistic about his situation.  What he’d said to Buddy was no more than the truth – every man had a breaking point.  He knew that.  But he couldn’t just knuckle under.

When the torture had stopped, he’d thought at first it was just another short breather, during which Elal would ask him whether he’d come to his senses yet.  He’d been so dazed with pain it had taken him a few moments to realize Elal was crying.  Soon, she’d begun flinging sobbing complaints at him.  “Why do you have to be such a crazy male?” she’d wailed.  “It’s not right for you to force me to hurt you like this!”  Jack had listened in disbelief.  Elal had carried on like a child who’d been unfairly put upon, which was truly twisted, since she was the one with all the power.

As she had proven the next night, when she’d tied him down and raped him anyway.  Though, of course, Elal refused to acknowledge that it was rape.  Despite all his arguments, insults, threats, and appeals, he couldn’t get her to admit she was doing anything bad, much less stop.  She just kept repeating the Ashoran mantra, “Males can’t be raped.”

But Jack wasn’t buying it.  No matter how immature she sometimes seemed, Elal was not a child.  At some level, she had to know that what she was doing to him was wrong.

Elal’s false brightness crumbled before his stare.  Emotions chased each other across her face – and then drained away, leaving an uncharacteristically serious and adult expression.  “Listen to me, Goldy,” she said, gazing steadily into his eyes.  “You have to behave yourself.  You _have_ to.  If you screw this up, you will _definitely_ get sent back to Umala.  I won’t be able to protect you.”

Jack felt his jaw clench.  The threat of Umala was always Elal’s ace in the hole – just as the crime boss, Mimoisa, had undoubtedly intended.  That calculating bitch must have known all along that Elal had no stomach for serious torture.  Jack’s willingness to endure Punishment made it possible for him to defy Elal’s orders in private, but if he did that in public – if he refused to do the “work” that was demanded of him – Mimoisa would intervene and send him back to Umala.  Of course, up until now, performing in the Arena had been part of his “plan” anyway.  But Jack sometimes wondered to what extent his “plan” had been a rationalization, a way to avoid admitting to himself just how much he hated the thought of falling back into Umala’s hands.

Plan A was dead now, but if he were sent back to Umala, Plan B wouldn’t have much of a chance, either.  The night that Umala had “worked” on him, she had kept him either Paralyzed or tied down at all times.  Apparently, getting punched in the face by a Collared man had taught her not to rely on the anti-aggression program.  If he came under Umala’s direct control, his opportunities for nailing her would be much reduced – if not eliminated entirely.

Jack gazed directly into Elal’s eyes, and wrapped himself in every shred of authority he could muster.  Even though he was, in reality, completely helpless, Jack had found he could sometimes intimidate Elal through sheer force of personality.

“Forget it!” he barked.  “Shove the threats up your ass!  I am _not_ playing whore for anybody.  You damn well better find a way to avoid handing me over to Ms. VIP, or I swear to you, you’re gonna have one very pissed off customer on your hands.  And who do you think Mimoisa will blame for that?”

Elal let out a strangled cry of frustration, and began literally pulling her hair.  “No!” she wailed.  “No, no, no, _no_!  _Why_ do you have to _be_ like this?  Can’t you understand I’m trying to _help_ you?  I’ve seen what Umala does to her males.  Do you think I want to see that happen to you?”

“If you actually care about me,” said Jack, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “then don’t let this woman rape me.  And while you’re at it, how ‘bout you stop raping me yourself?”

Elal rolled her eyes and let out a pained sigh.  Then she crossed her arms and shook her head, blinking back tears.  Melodrama came easily to Elal, but she did seem genuinely upset.  Jack knew that she truly didn’t want Umala to get her hands on him again – partly because that would have been a victory for her rival, but also because she really did seem to feel some sort of twisted attachment to him.

“I was so afraid you’d do this,” she said, her voice subdued.  “This is such a great opportunity, but I was so afraid you’d screw it up that I actually _did_ try to steer Insenstil away from you.  I told her that you’re new and raw and full of patriarchal stubbornness, and that she’d probably prefer the Services of one of the other males, but she insisted on _you_.

“This is a _huge deal_ , Goldy.  Insenstil is one of the wealthiest women on the planet!  But she’s an eccentric recluse.  She’s never even been to the Arena before.  Apparently, she saw you on one of the Wrestling videos we sell through certain discreet channels, and she was so taken with you that she came all the way here from the South Continent just to meet you!  She showed up an hour ago at one of the Arena’s secret entrances, demanding to be let in.  And she’s known to be a strict Scrupulist – just the sort of woman who might be interested in several of our products.  Mimoisa is chomping at the bit to do business with her.  This could be the beginning of an extremely lucrative relationship.

“But it all depends on _you_ , Goldy.  If you queer this deal, Mimoisa will be so disgusted that she’ll give you to Umala as a pet.  She probably won’t even care if Umala damages you.”  There seemed to be genuine fear in Elal’s eyes – though Jack figured most of it was for herself rather than him.  “That’s why the Syndicate brought me on board, you know.  Not that they minded what Umala did to Squealer – because he did hit her, so she had to make an example of him – but there were some other males who ended up with brain damage, too.  The Syndicate sent me here to act as a counterweight to Umala, and make sure she stopped damaging our males unnecessarily.”

“How generous of them,” said Jack.

Elal sighed.  “Do you think I like what Umala does to her males?  Do you think I like the Games?  Don’t you think I want to see all that pain and violence come to an end?”

“I’m sure you do,” said Jack, “because I know how much you hate Umala’s guts.  And how much you’d like to rise in the Syndicate.  And … oh yeah, I almost forgot … what a tender-hearted person you are.”

Elal gave him a hurt look.  “That isn’t fair.  I _care_ about you, Goldy.  And the other males, too.  That’s the _main_ reason I’d like to see the Games abolished.  And if we win Insenstil’s business, it’ll be a huge boost for the Wrestling Matches!  Maybe the Syndicate would finally decide to do away with the Games.  Wouldn’t you like to see Umala lose her job?  Imagine how much things would improve around here with her gone!”

“Oh, I _have_ ,” said Jack.

Elal glanced at her data-wristlet.  “I can’t delay any longer, Goldy.  Insenstil isn’t a patient woman.  Please,” she pleaded, reverting to one of her child-like modes, “please, please, _please!_   Can’t you go with the flow just this once?  Can’t you forget your pride, for the sake of a better future for all the males here?”

This little speech drew a disgusted look from Jack.  Elal might sometimes behave like a child, but she could also be quite shrewd.  She knew which arguments would appeal to him.  And, though she didn’t realize it, she’d given an accurate summary of the choice before him.  If he refused to play gigolo for this VIP, he’d end up back under Umala’s control, and that would almost surely fuck up Plan B.

And that wouldn’t be the only thing that was fucked.  He’d be at Umala’s mercy again, this time with no end in sight.

But even if he made a conscious decision to pimp himself for the sake of Plan B, he wasn’t sure he could really do it.  He wasn’t sure he had it in him, regardless of the consequences.

_“One day, you’ll do something defiant.  You won’t be able to help yourself.  And then, they’ll send you back to me, and I’ll finish what I’ve started.  I’ll make you mine forever.”_

Jack shuddered, and quickly stuffed the memory of those whispered words back down.  When Elal took his hand, he gave a small start, like a man waking from a dream.

“Are you ready, Goldy?” she asked, looking genuinely concerned.  “Please, _please_ tell me you’re ready.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Jack, his voice flat.

Elal sighed, no doubt recognizing Jack’s words for the non-promise they were.  But when she began to tug him forward, Jack allowed himself to be led.

They moved out of the drying room, and into one of the stark, tunnel-like corridors that were so common in the Arena complex.  But after a little while, Elal used her neural implants to open a door in the wall, and they stepped into a hallway that had an entirely different aspect.  This one was luxuriously appointed, with plush carpet, colorful wallpaper, and fancy light fixtures.  She closed the door behind them.  Then she stopped and turned to Jack, fixing him with a serious expression.

“Insenstil is waiting to meet you in the Rainbow Room,” she said.  “And you _have_ to mind your manners with her!  Don’t speak unless spoken to.  And if she _does_ speak to you, respond respectfully, for Goddess’s sake!  Address her as ‘Honored One.’  When I present you, I’m going to squeeze your shoulder like this.  That will be your signal to kneel.  And when I squeeze your shoulder again, you are to crawl forward and greet Insenstil by kissing her feet.”

_Kissing her feet._   Suddenly, Jack was immersed in the memory of the only time in his life he’d ever kissed a woman’s feet.  He remembered how annoyed he’d been at first, but because it was Sam, he’d been willing to do it.  Then, without planning it, he’d cheated and kissed her ankle.  When his lips had touched her flesh, he’d felt the most amazing jolt go through his body.

That had been the first touch between them in over a year!  Not that they’d ever permitted themselves much physical contact, except in extremity.  They’d always had to be so careful.  But, that night, the first touch between them had been only the beginning.  That magical night, the barriers had finally fallen.

Jack closed his eyes for a moment.  Then he gave Elal a blistering look.  “I’m not kissing this woman’s feet,” he said.  “Not gonna happen.”

“You said you’d cooperate!” she cried.  “Insenstil is a strict Scrupulist.  She’ll expect you to follow the proper etiquette.”

“But I’m new and uncouth.  No manners at all.  Isn’t that what you already told her?”

Elal’s face screwed up with anxiety.  “We haven’t got time for this, Goldy!”  Sighing massively, she said, “Okay.  Maybe you don’t have to kiss her feet – but you _do_ have to kneel.  Will you at least do that?”

“Let’s just get on with it,” growled Jack.

Elal led him a little further down the hall, to an ornate door.  She opened the door, took his arm, and pulled him into the Rainbow Room.

Jack had never been in the Rainbow Room before, but he’d heard all about it.  It was the place where Arena slaves were sometimes rented out to certain select patrons, and it looked the part.  The decor was both sumptuous and garish.  There were sofas upholstered in jewel-bright fabrics, and tables of gilded wood inlaid with gemstones.  It reminded Jack of the “premium seating area” where he had first been introduced to the Arena, except this looked even more expensive.  The walls bore a slowing moving pattern of rainbow-colored swirls, along with a number of large holographs of Wrestlers.  A couple of the images were of Wrestlers grappling in the Arena, but most showed naked, painted men striking erotic poses.  In the center of the room, dominating everything, was an enormous bed covered in satiny black sheets, and heaped with multi-colored pillows.  Gauzy, glittering drapes hung around it.

There were three women on the other side of the bed, but only their silhouettes were visible through the drapes.  One of them was speaking, giving some kind of pitch about the glories of the Arena.  Jack recognized Mimoisa’s voice.

When he and Elal came around the bed, Jack immediately focused on the unfamiliar woman sitting in a plush, throne-like armchair.  Her features and coloring suggested South Asian ancestry.  Her face was turned toward Mimoisa, who sat next to her.  She was listening to Mimoisa with a closed, neutral expression.  A Trainer named Ishpia hovered at the stranger’s other side, pouring some kind of beverage into a crystal goblet on a small, ornate table.  None of the women seemed to have noticed their entrance.

Elal tugged on Jack’s arm, signaling him to halt, and said, “If I may interrupt?”

All three women turned sharply toward them.  Mimoisa broke off in mid-sentence and exclaimed, “Ah!  And here he is!”

“Forgive the delay, Honored Ones,” said Elal.  “I had to take a moment to make him more presentable.  He’d just come from Arena practice, and you know how easily males get carried away by all that rough and tumble!”  All the women snickered at this – except the stranger.  Her expression remained serious, intense, and utterly focused on _him_ , as if he were her salvation.

Jack had expected to hate her, but he found himself strangely intrigued instead.  Her great, dark eyes were so full of barely restrained feeling.  There was something about the way she looked at him, the way she blinked…. 

A strange feeling came over Jack.  Though he didn’t recognize this woman’s face, there was something about her that seemed _very_ familiar.  What was it?  She was wearing Ashoran clothes – topless bodice, high-waisted jacket, and a skirt that fell from her hips, leaving her midriff bare.  The clothes were peacock blue, with touches of gold and green, and her plaited black hair was bound with blue and green cords.  Wait a minute … hadn’t Sam worn clothes like that?  On that special night … _their_ night.  Jack didn’t usually notice clothes much, but _that_ outfit, he’d noticed.  And didn’t this woman’s outfit match _exactly?_ Jack studied her face again, an impossible suspicion beginning to form….

“Esteemed Sister Insenstil,” said Elal, “I am pleased to present you with our male, Hard Gold.  He is at your Service.”  Elal squeezed his shoulder, the signal for him to kneel, and Jack found himself falling to his knees without any fuss.  Because his knees were giving way.  He stared down at the golden carpet while his heart decided to abandon the old bu-bump in favor of some kind of crazy Salsa rhythm.  It took every ounce of discipline he had to keep from giving something away.

_I’m imagining things,_ he told himself.  _I’ve finally lost it.  How could it be true?_

The hem of a peacock-blue skirt came into Jack’s line of sight.  Then a woman’s hand touched the side of his face.  Her fingers caressed the back of his neck, sending a strange jolt through his body.  He shuddered and closed his eyes for a moment, and leaned his cheek against her hand.  As the shudder passed, a wave of enormous peace replaced it.

Jack looked up into her face.  The shape of her nose and chin had been altered somehow, and her coloring was different – but Jack no longer had any doubt.

_It was Sam._


	14. Just a Macho Cliché

Sam gazed down into his eyes, while her fingers continued to caress his neck.  Jack gazed back, mutely trying to communicate with her while revealing nothing to the others.  His heart was beating so hard, he felt his watching jailers would surely hear it.

Sam’s eyes flickered in acknowledgment.  It was a very subtle signal, but he knew she understood that he had recognized her.  She took a breath, and dropped her hand from his face.  He saw her shoulders straighten.  He could feel her pulling away emotionally from their moment of reunion, preparing herself for the struggle ahead.

“Yes,” she said, “he’s just as I imagined.  I want him.”  Her voice was disguised, too.  It sounded huskier.  And she spoke in an imperious tone that seemed to say, _What I want, I get._   Clearly, she was playing a role – the role of Insenstil, a reclusive Ashoran billionaire from the South Continent.  Jack didn’t know how Sam had managed to disguise herself, but the disguise was evidently a good one.  It had fooled the Syndicate.  And to do that, it would have to include faked electronic IDs as well as sophisticated alterations to her physical appearance.

“Oh,” cried Elal, full of girlish enthusiasm, “how wonderful!  I _know_ you won’t be disappointed.  I can testify that he’s extremely virile.  A really fabulous ride!”

Jack flinched at Elal’s words, acutely aware that Sam had heard.  _Sam knows,_ he thought.

Something deep inside himself threatened to break open.  He could almost hear the awful clatter as the big, heavy door in his mind started bouncing on its hinges, allowing bad memories to crowd in on him with terrible intensity.  All the feelings he’d been keeping buried and compartmentalized were threatening to flood out and drown his inner-most self.  He couldn’t look at Sam anymore.  He shifted his gaze to the carpet, staring downward as blood rushed into his face and then drained again, leaving him feeling light-headed.  God, the things they’d done to him!  He felt so wounded, so exposed …

_Dammit, no!_ Jack clenched his fists, reaching for his rage and holding on tightly.  He concentrated on the sensation of his closed fists, of his nails digging in to his palms.  He was _not_ going to lose it!  Especially not during Sam’s rescue attempt!

After a moment, he dared to look up at Sam again, and saw that now _she_ was staring at the floor.  There was something in the set of her jaw that told him she, too, was struggling to contain her emotions.  _What is she feeling?_ he thought.  _How does she see me now?_ He felt he’d let her down, somehow.  He wasn’t supposed to be so vulnerable – not _this_ kind of vulnerable.  _That’s just a macho cliché,_ he told himself.  But he knew it wasn’t so simple.  It wasn’t just about macho stereotypes; it was a lot more personal than that.  It was about the _person_ he’d always been….

_For crying out loud, Jack, this is a fine time to start picking lint out of your navel._ Giving himself a mental shake, he focused on Sam.

And at that moment, Sam seemed to conquer her own internal conflict.  She looked toward Mimoisa, her eyebrows raised.  “How much?” she asked, her voice full of arrogance.

Mimoisa smiled.  Jack could practically see the dollar signs dancing in her eyes – or whatever passed for dollar signs on Ashora.  “Well,” she began, “we offer several deluxe ‘personal service’ packages for _special_ customers such as yourself.  Or, of course, we could customize a package just for you!  All our packages include use of the Rainbow Room facilities,” she gestured around her, “which, as you can see, are designed to enhance…”

“ _No_ ,” cut in Sam, her voice dripping scorn.  “Do you really imagine I’d take my pleasures in this tawdry place?  With Goddess knows how many of you watching on hidden camera, and probably recording everything as well?”

There was a stunned silence from the Syndicate women.  As well there should be, since, in fact, they _did_ observe everything that went on in the Rainbow Room.  Jack wondered what Sam was planning.  Was she trying to get them some unmonitored time together?

“I assure you, Esteemed Sister,” said Elal, voice full of ingratiating sincerity, “we guarantee privacy and discretion!  We would _never_ …”

Sam snorted and waved her hand dismissively.  “Save it!”  She gave Mimoisa a haughty stare.  “How much _for the male?_ ” she demanded.

There was another stunned silence, and Jack had to look down at the carpet again.  Sam was trying to _buy_ him!  Which made sense.  She undoubtedly realized that trying to break him out of here by force would be _extremely_ risky as long as the Syndicate controlled his Collar.  After all, they could kill him with a thought.

Jack wondered where Sam had gotten the money to pay for him.  He knew the Syndicate charged a small fortune for an Arena slave.  Or was she planning to fake payment?  After all, the money would probably be transferred electronically, and Sam was good with that stuff.  It was pleasant to imagine Sam scamming that greedy, calculating bitch Mimoisa.  It was pleasant, but it wasn’t enough.  Not nearly enough…

_Stop it, Jack,_ he told himself firmly.  _You aren’t even out of here yet.  And when you do get out, you’re going to have more important things to worry about than revenge.  What are you, a Jaffa?_

But it wasn’t just about revenge.  What about Buddy, and the other men he’d gotten to know in here?  If he got out of this hellhole, could he just leave them behind?  Jack felt torn.  Sam and Daniel had to come first.  Didn’t they?  _I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,_ he told himself.

“But,” said Elal to Sam, sounding off-balance, “wouldn’t you like to try him out first?”

Sam gave Elal a withering look.  “Do you think I don’t know my own desires?” she asked, her voice growing colder.  “I already told you, _I want him_.  Are you willing to sell or not?”

Mimoisa jumped in quickly.  “Of course we are!  Please forgive my young associate.  She doesn’t understand how clear these matters are to a mature woman.  We would be honored to sell you this male!  Ishpia,” she said, addressing the third Syndicate woman, “go and prepare the Meeting Room for us.”

“Yes, Honored One,” said Ishpia, and began to hurry out.

But Sam frowned.  “Meeting Room?” she asked, her voice sharp.  “That won’t be necessary.  I find haggling tedious, and this has already taken longer than I’d planned.  First I had to wait for _you_ to arrive,” she said, gesturing toward Mimoisa, “and then I had to wait an inordinately long time for your people to round up the male.  This is ridiculous!  I don’t like being away from my estate!”  Sam’s voice held an edge of irrational annoyance.  She was doing a good job coming across as a prickly eccentric.  Jack was impressed.  He wouldn’t have counted acting as among Sam’s many talents.

Sam crossed her arms, raised her chin, and gave Mimoisa an aggressive stare.  “It’s time to wrap this up.  Just name your price!  _But_ ,” she added warningly, “don’t imagine I’m unfamiliar with the going rate for an Black Market chattel-male.  If you try to gouge me _too_ outrageously, I may conclude you aren’t the sort of people I want to do business with after all.”

Mimoisa’s professional smile wavered a bit at this.  “Esteemed Sister,” she said soothingly, “I appreciate your point of view, and I have no doubt we’ll be able to agree on a reasonable price with a minimum of fuss.  But the nature of the transaction requires some careful planning.  Surely you understand that?  We’ll have to make arrangements for transporting the male from this facility to your estate in a discrete manner.  For your protection as well as ours, we must ensure the Government doesn’t learn this male is still alive.”

Although Mimoisa’s voice remained pleasant, there was a certain wary glitter in her eyes that made Jack curse inwardly.  He knew the Syndicate _had_ sold Arena slaves to private buyers on a few occasions, but only after carefully vetting the buyers.  And although Insenstil was apparently famous for her Scrupulist views, a hard-headed, mafia-don type like Mimoisa would be inclined to be cautious.  No matter how famous the buyer, she’d probably want to do some double-checking before concluding a deal like this.  In fact, the Syndicate was probably checking into Insenstil’s personal, political, and financial affairs even as they spoke!  And that wasn’t good, because the _real_ Insenstil wasn’t here, she was out there somewhere, and if the Syndicate realized that…  _Crap_.

Sam once again waved her hand dismissively.  “I was afraid you wouldn’t be properly prepared,” she said, her voice disdainful.  “So naturally _I_ am.  I flew here in a large air car, which is parked in the Pleasant Boulevard Underground Garage, conveniently close to one of your facility’s cleverly hidden entrances.  My air car contains a small recreational boat on a hover-sled, of the sort no one would think it odd to see a woman hauling around near Great Park.  I also have a personal cloaking device in my car.  So,” Sam continued briskly, “after I pay for the male and take control of his Collar, I’ll Paralyze him, then make him invisible and electronically undetectable with the personal cloak.  We load him into the boat on my hover-sled; I load the sled back in my air car; and away I go, all set to enjoy my new male in my own dear home.  What could be simpler?”

There was a another stunned pause – and Jack saw what Sam was trying to do.  It didn’t take a genius to realize that the longer this took, the greater the risk that Sam would be exposed as an imposter.  For this whole charade to work, Sam had to “buy” him and get them both out of here as quickly as possible.

Sam frowned impatiently at the Syndicate women’s silence.  “Well?” she demanded, playing the ‘prickly eccentric’ card to the hilt.  “Do you people _want_ to do business or not?”

Elal looked agitated, but Mimoisa’s eyes just seemed to get colder.  Jack could practically see the wheels turning in her calculating mind.  He could only pray that Mimoisa’s greed would outweigh her caution.

*****

Daniel contemplated the mysterious Stargate address.  It hovered in the air before him, along with some encrypted Ashoran text that he hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of.  The holographic display was being projected by the computer terminal in Nara’s quarters, which she’d had fitted with a manual interface so that Daniel could use it.  Nara had been teaching him to read Ashoran – with Ashasti’s blessing.  But unknown to Ashasti, Nara had also been showing him her hidden files about the Founders’ Secret.

And that was only a small part of what had been happening on Ashasti’s estate without Ashasti’s knowledge.  During the day, while Ashasti worked at the Bureau of Liberation, their little counter-conspiracy worked on hatching plots using Ashasti’s considerable computer resources.  Daniel had found these days exciting in some respects, but frustrating in many others.  To his dismay, he hadn’t been able to contribute much to Sam’s plans.  But, on the other hand, he’d been able to spend a lot of time studying with Nara, learning to read Ashoran and happily getting sucked in to her obsession with the Founders’ Secret.

Daniel smiled a little as he thought about Nara.  They had an awful lot in common.  Nara had trained as a historian, so their fields were closely related.  And Nara had the same passion for history as Daniel did.

That was what had gotten her in trouble.

The Ashoran archives were notoriously bare of detailed information about anything prior to the Founders’ Landing on Ashora.  The entries on Keftu, the Founders’ original world, were remarkably sketchy.  That was due to a deliberate decision by the Founders.  They had stated that Ashora’s new society should look forward to a bright future, not back to a dark past.  They had said they wanted their descendants to be free of the burdens that haunted _them_ – the knowledge of how corrupt Keftu had become, and the memories of Keftu’s awful destruction at the hands of the Goa’uld.

But Nara had been young and idealistic, and passionate about the pursuit of historical truth.  Through persistent, meticulous digging in the deepest layers of Ashora’s data archives, Nara had been able to piece together certain facts about the Founders’ journey to Ashora.  And she had realized that the evidence she was digging up didn’t jive with the official story of the Fall of Keftu.

Supposedly, the Founders’ escape had been a near thing.  By the grace of the Goddess – so the story went – they had managed to scramble aboard a spaceship and race away from Keftu even as Keftu’s cities were being incinerated by the Goa’uld’s massive surprise attack on their planet.  But Nara had found evidence that the Founders’ spaceship had been curiously well stocked.  It seemed to have contained everything the Founders’ would need to start a colony on a new world – as if they had been planning for the venture and gathering supplies long in advance, rather than departing in desperate haste as their world was unexpectedly destroyed.

Daniel remembered how sad Nara had become as she related her discoveries.  Nara and her brother Neralo had been raised in a devout Charitist household, and Nara had once been quite devout herself.  Nara’s original motivation for researching the Founding was to try to prove that the Founders’ beliefs had been closer to that of the Charitists than to that of the Foundationists who claimed to represent them.  What she had discovered, instead, was that there was a fault line running through everything she had always believed about the nature of her world.  Her research had led her to conclude that the Founders _had_ _known in advance_ that the Goa’uld were going to attack Keftu.

And if the Founders had known, why hadn’t they given warning?  According to the story, the Founders had “warned the Faithless that unless they returned to the bosom of the Goddess, the Goddess would withdraw her protection, and a terrible calamity would befall Keftu.”  But if the Founders had possessed concrete information about an impending Goa’uld attack, why hadn’t they given a more useful and specific sort of warning?  Could it be they had felt Keftu was so corrupt it deserved to be destroyed?

That went against everything Nara had been taught about the Ashoran faith.  The Goddess’s worshippers were supposed to hate violence, cruelty, death, and destruction.  As Nara had contemplated this, a terrible suspicion had begun to form in her mind.  What if the reason the Founders had known about the attack was because _it was they themselves_ who had betrayed Keftu’s existence to the Goa’uld?  What if the _Founders_ had been the ones ultimately responsible for the Fall of Keftu?

Nara had been terribly shaken by her findings and suspicions, but she had concluded she _had_ to publish them.  If the Founders had truly done such things, then surely they were false prophets.  And if Ashora had been built on such a horrific foundation – on the destruction of an entire world – then all Ashorans had some deep soul-searching to do.

Nara had been about to publish her theory when she discovered that someone had hacked into her computer and altered her files.  The evidence she had gathered about the Founders’ foreknowledge of the Fall of Keftu was missing.  Moreover, when she checked the original documents in the Ashoran archives, she found that those had been altered as well.  That was when Nara had realized there was a conspiracy at the heart of the Ashoran Government.  There were powerful people who _knew_ the Founders’ Secret, and were determined to _keep_ it secret.

Nara had been left without any evidence to back up her claims, so she wasn’t able to actually publish her paper.  But news of what she had planned to write had gotten out into the academic community, and most of her colleagues had found her allegations about the Founders both absurd and offensive.  When Nara tried to tell her colleagues that a mysterious “someone” had altered data to undermine her theory, her reputation sank even lower.  She was regarded as a lunatic – at best.  Some considered her a malicious fraud.  She lost her post at the University, and had been unable to work in her field ever since.  In fact, Nara had found it difficult to get a job of any kind.  When people found out about her ideas, many refused to hire her – or, indeed, associate with her in any way.

She had been reduced to depending on her wealthy Charitist sister-in-law, who found her theories just as offensive as did most Ashorans, but was willing to overlook them.  Ashasti regarded Nara as a basically good person with a crazy obsession.  She had given Nara a job as a night clerk in her genetic consultancy business, which was located on her estate.  And when some of Nara’s former neighbors turned especially nasty, Ashasti had also given Nara rooms within her mansion.  That was how Nara had ended up living and working on Ashasti’s estate.

But Nara hadn’t been beaten down by her experiences.  When Daniel had expressed sympathy for her ordeals, Nara’s green eyes had blazed.  “I don’t regret anything,” she’d said.  “It’s been difficult, but it’s also been liberating.  _Genuinely_ liberating.  What I discovered when I tried to research the Founders’ lives made me start questioning everything.  It led me to realize not just that there’s something rotten at the core of our Government, but that there’s a great deal wrong with our whole society.”

Nara had become a radical.  She believed that Sons of Ashora should be given the vote, and that the practice of enslaving males from other worlds should cease.  But Nara’s beliefs about the Founders were offensive even to other religious/political radicals.  When she joined an underground dissident group that worked to expose Government corruption by conducting its own “spy operations,” Nara made it her policy to work for the group’s less esoteric political goals while keeping her obsession with the Founders’ Secret to herself.  However, she used the illicit hacking skills she had learned in the group to continue probing for evidence of the Founders’ Secret on her own.

And she had had some success.  Several months previously, Nara had managed to hack into a highly restricted area of High Councilor Merena’s private files, and she had found the mysterious Stargate address, along with some encrypted text that she hadn’t been able to crack.  Nara had a hunch that the Stargate address had something to do with the Founders’ Secret, and Daniel had become infected by her conviction.  After all, Merena was one of the most powerful women in the Foundationist Party.  And they had learned through Sam that she was Lagash’s mother, and the creator of the New Start Program.  She was involved in the Foundationist conspiracy up to her neck.

Nara thought the Stargate address might belong to the world where the Founders had established contact with the Goa’uld.  She thought the Founders must have had some neutral meeting ground were they’d felt secure, since they would have known perfectly well that the Goa’uld would turn on them at the first opportunity.  But, Daniel had to admit, that was sheer speculation.  The Stargate address could mean almost anything.  It could be totally unrelated to the Founders’ Secret.

Daniel sighed as he thought about Nara.  He had become fascinated by the mystery of the Founders’ Secret not only for its own sake, but also for Nara’s sake.  He knew how it felt to be convinced of a truth that everyone else considered crazy.  And Nara had pursued her truth tenaciously, even when it forced her to abandon everything she had believed.  He admired that terribly.  He admired Nara’s passion and intelligence and principle.  He also admired her beautiful green eyes and perky white breasts…

Daniel sighed and automatically reached up to adjust his glasses – only to find they weren’t there.  He grimaced.  Every time he reached for his nonexistent glasses, he was reminded of how constricted his life had become since his capture by the Ashorans.  Ashasti’s decision to correct his eyesight without his consent was just one example of what it meant to be a “chattel-male.”

He felt so damn helpless and useless!  His intellectual expertise had so far been of little or no value to Sam’s efforts, and he hadn’t been able to help in other ways – not even just by running errands – because of his Black Collar.  Sam said her location-shunt device wouldn’t work for him, because the security protocols on a Black Collar were far more stringent than those on a woman’s neural implants or a Son of Ashora’s Golden Collar.  If he tried to leave Ashasti’s estate, his Black Collar would notify Ashasti, and Ashasti still wasn’t in on the plot.  In any case, Sam worried that if he left Ashasti’s estate, the New Start Program would try to kill him.  He was effectively trapped here.

The reality of his situation had been wearing on him more and more.  He was fortunate enough to be a well-treated slave, but he was a slave nonetheless.  He had lost his freedom of action.  He had become a vulnerable, dependent person who had to be protected by his female friends.

Of course, his inability to help Sam hadn’t been his only source of frustration lately.  He’d been experiencing a much more personal sort of frustration regarding his relationship with Nara.  The truth was, he had come to feel extremely attracted to Nara.  He hadn’t felt so strongly about anyone since his doomed romance with Ke’ra/Linea.  But though Nara seemed to enjoy their time together, his few bumbling attempts to woo her had ended in awkward silences, or in a sudden recollection on Nara’s part that she needed to be elsewhere.  It seemed Nara was only interested in his mind, not his body.

But while the woman he wanted had rejected him, the woman he didn’t want was still occasionally trying to seduce him – when she remembered.  Nara had explained why Ashasti had taken him as a concubine.  As he’d suspected, she was motivated more by a strange sense of duty than by any great desire to have sex with him.  Still, he was officially her concubine, and it was clear Ashasti still expected to consummate the relationship at some point.  He was grateful Ashasti had been so distracted by issues at work lately, because the better he got to know Neralo, the more painful the whole situation became.

Neralo had proven to be a decent man.  After the conversation that had established their little counter-conspiracy, Neralo had approached Daniel.  He had apologized for using the Collar to hurt him, on that first, disturbing night in Ashasti’s house.  And it had been clear to Daniel that Neralo was sincerely repentant and, indeed, guilt-ridden over his behavior.  “What’s happened between Ashasti and me is no one’s fault but my own,” he’d said.  “And yet, I took it out on you.  That was very wrong of me.”

Since that time, he and Neralo had established an uneasy friendship.  Daniel kept trying to challenge Neralo’s preconceptions about the proper roles of men and women, but Neralo clung to his Ashoran convictions quite stubbornly.  Which had surprised Daniel, because it was clear Neralo had a mind of his own.  Daniel would have thought that a strong personality such as his would be chaffing under the restrictions placed on males by Ashoran society.  But, as Nara had said, “Just because Neralo has a strong personality doesn’t mean he’s a rebel.  Neralo believes in the Charitist values we were raised with.  He loves the Goddess, his wife, and his mother.  He wants to be a good Son of Ashora, and that means being peaceful, gentle, and yielding.  Neralo has always been very uncomfortable with the aggressive qualities in this own character.”

It was clear that Neralo was trying very hard to live up the Ashoran ideal of the “Redeemed” male who was immune to jealousy.  But it was equally clear that he was failing miserably.  Daniel could see that the thought of Ashasti having sex with another man was agony to him.  And he, Daniel, had been unwillingly cast as the “other man.”

Daniel stood up abruptly.  “God!” he hissed, his voice low but explosive.  “When are we going to get _off_ this damn planet?”

With exasperated movements, Daniel shut off Nara’s computer and began pacing.  Even the mystery of the Founders’ Secret couldn’t keep his mind off the fact that, _at this very moment,_ Sam was trying to rescue Jack from the hands of Ashoran criminals.  _And there was nothing Daniel could do to help!_   Since he didn’t have neural implants or a Golden Collar, he couldn’t interface with the Ashoran Net well enough to help Nara and Neralo with the remote electronic support they were providing to Sam.  And his Black Collar made it impossible for him to play any sort of role that involved leaving Ashasti’s estate.

Daniel stopped pacing and stood frozen, his face scrunched up in frustration.  He thought about going back to Ashasti’s office, where Nara and Neralo were using Ashasti’s computer power to help Sam sustain her impersonation of Insenstil.  But Nara had already shooed Daniel out of Ashasti’s office once, which was why he’d come here.  She’d claimed he was distracting them.  Okay, so maybe he _had_ been hovering just a little, but he hadn’t asked _that_ many questions.

Nara and Neralo’s support would become especially critical when Sam had to pay the Syndicate for Jack.  Nara’s dissident friends had put together Sam’s physical disguise and fake electronic IDs, but they’d felt that when Sam paid for Jack, the money had to be real.  They didn’t feel confident they’d be able to fool the Syndicate with a fake transfer.  And the only way their little group could get hold of that sort of money was by tapping Ashasti’s fortune.

Nara had pointed out that since Neralo managed Ashasti’s finances for her, he would be able to transfer money out of Ashasti’s accounts _and_ keep her from finding out about it for some time.  Neralo had balked at funneling that kind of money out of his wife’s accounts without her knowledge, but Nara had insisted that telling Ashasti about their plot would be a disaster.  Ashasti was a mainstream Charitist, not a dissident or radical.  She would probably consult her friends in the Charitist Party regarding the New Start Program, and Nara was convinced that wasn’t safe.  The Foundationist conspiracy would have ears everywhere – even among their greatest religious/political rivals.  Furthermore, she thought Ashasti might object to their group’s goal of getting people off Ashora, on the grounds that it would jeopardize Ashoran security.

Nara’s arguments had convinced Sam and Daniel.  That left Neralo.  Nara and Neralo had retired to Nara’s quarters and shouted at each other for a while.  When they emerged, Neralo had agreed to do things Nara’s way.  But Daniel could see that he felt extremely guilty about it.  His wife had taken a concubine, and now he was plotting behind her back.  Daniel had gotten to know Neralo well enough to realize he would be asking himself if he was acting out of anger toward his wife, caused by forbidden feelings of sexual betrayal.  Everything that had happened was putting conflicting demands on Neralo’s loyalties, and straining his sense of right and wrong.  He had begun to look tired and depressed all the time.

Daniel glanced at the chronometer in Nara’s quarters, and saw that over an hour had passed since Sam had entered the Arena facility.  What the hell was going on?  The longer she had to stay in there, the worse the risks became.  And not only was he unable to help, he didn’t even know how things were going.  That was driving him insane!  Surely it would be okay if he popped in to Ashasti’s office just long enough to check on Sam’s progress.  Surely that wouldn’t be too distracting for Nara and Neralo.

Exiting Nara’s quarters, Daniel began moving swiftly down the hallway.  He rounded a corner – and almost plowed into Ashasti.

“Ashasti!” he yelped, staring at her stupidly.  “Umm… aren’t you suppose to be at work?”

Ashasti sighed.  “Not anymore.  I lost my job.  The Scrupulists finally managed to force me out.”

“That’s terrible,” said Daniel.  And Daniel actually did spare a thought for the injustice being done to Ashasti, who had clung to her job stubbornly, despite the hostility of most of her co-workers, for purely altruistic reasons.  Ashasti certainly didn’t _need_ the job, but she had considered it her duty to be a Charitist voice inside the Scrupulist-dominated Bureau of Liberation, since the Bureau was responsible for deciding the fate of new chattel-males.

But, of course, the _truly_ terrible part was that Ashasti had lost her job _today_ – when they were trying to rescue Jack!  He absolutely _had_ to keep Ashasti away from her office, where Nara and Neralo were using Ashasti’s computer power and money to pull off the rescue.  He also had to keep her from looking for Nara or Neralo.  If Ashasti discovered that they were using her resources without her knowledge, she was bound to be extremely upset.  She would use her neural implants to override Nara and Neralo’s efforts, which would expose Sam as an imposter.  And what would the criminals do then?

Ashasti shook her head.  “I don’t feel up to telling Neralo about losing my job yet.  I know he’ll be angry on my account, and it’s not good for him to get angry.”

“Yes!” Daniel quickly agreed.  “That’s very true.  It would be a _very_ bad idea to talk to Neralo right now.  And, you know,” he floundered, “you look tired.  Very tired.  You’ve been under a lot of stress.  Why don’t you rest for a while?  Maybe you should go up to your bedroom and… umm… take a nap.”

Ashasti gave him a bemused smile and shook her head.  “I appreciate your concern, Blue Star.  But there’s some important paperwork that has to be completed.  I was just going to grab a mug of tea from the kitchen before heading to my office.  But now that I’ve run into you, would you be a peach and bring the tea to me there?”  And with that, Ashasti turned and began heading in the direction of her office.

“Ashasti, wait!” cried Daniel.

She turned, regarding him patiently with her big, brown eyes.  Ashora had an extremely diverse population – owing to the Ashoran habit of kidnapping people from many different worlds – but Daniel had always thought Ashasti got her looks from the Founders.  From the original, Minoan-descended refugees from Keftu.  Ashasti was a voluptuous, doe-eyed brunette of apparently Mediterranean stock.  She was exactly the same physical type as Sha’re.  Odd he had never really thought about that before.  Perhaps he had never allowed himself to think about it.

Daniel felt strangely detached from these observations.  A curious sort of white noise seemed to have filled his head – a shield of mental static by which he was trying to keep himself from acknowledging where this was headed.  Apparently, he had a vital role to play in Jack’s rescue after all.  He was the only one who could prevent Ashasti from disrupting the rescue attempt, and he absolutely _had_ to ensure that she did not.  Sam and Jack’s freedom – and probably their lives, too – depended on his success.

And there seemed to be only one card he could play that would keep Ashasti distracted for long enough.


	15. That’s Messed Up

Daniel grimaced.  “I… umm… I’d like to talk to you, Ashasti.”

“We’ll talk later, Blue Star.  Right now, I have to…”

“Ashasti, _please_.  I’d really like to talk to you now.  I need to talk about… us.”

Ashasti gazed at him for a moment, and perhaps she saw some of his inner turmoil reflected in his face.  Her brows drew together, and she stepped closer.  “Okay, Blue Star.”  She gave him a rueful smile.  “I know I’ve been neglecting you.  It’s just there’s been so much happening.  My situation at work and… things…”  She sighed.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t really have any good excuse.”  Her face settling into an expression of determination, she took his hand.  “The paperwork can wait.  You’re more important.  Let’s go up to my bedroom.”

Daniel quailed inwardly, but meekly let her pull him down the hallway.  At least they were heading _away_ from Ashasti’s office.

In other circumstances, Daniel might have been quite content to be heading up to Ashasti’s bedroom with her.  He’d always found her physically attractive.  And after living in her house for two weeks, he’d gotten to know her well enough to realize there was a lot about her that he liked.  But there was Neralo to consider.

And there was also Nara to consider.  Some people dealt with romantic disappointment by turning to someone else, but he wasn’t made that way.  He found it difficult to contemplate having sex with Ashasti when his heart was still fixed on Nara.

They entered the atrium, and made their way toward the spiral staircase in silence.  The closer they got to Ashasti’s bedroom, the less she seemed to look at him.  Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, with a pensive little crease between her brows.  He wondered what she was really thinking and feeling.  Despite the promise of physical intimacy between them, Ashasti seemed very far away.

Daniel recalled the day that Nara had told him about Ashasti and Neralo….

*****

“Wow!” said Nara.  “You read that passage perfectly.  I didn’t hear a single mistake.  You’re doing really great!”

Daniel’s answering smile was tinged with irony.  Though Nara was a radical by Ashoran standards, no one was immune to the influence of their culture.  Nara’s astonishment at how rapidly he was learning to read Ashoran probably reflected her culture’s low regard for the male intellect.  But Nara’s surprise was laced with delight, rather than with hostility or denial.  That, Daniel thought warmly, expressed her true character.  So he didn’t make some sarcastic comment like, “That’s a relief.  I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to handle Ashoran on top of my other two-dozen languages.”  Instead, he just thanked her for her praise.

Nara was seated beside him at the computer terminal in her quarters.  Close beside him.  Now that he was no longer concentrating on translation, he found himself keenly aware of the glow of her skin, and the fresh, feminine scent of her body.  “Nara,” he began, “I just wanted to say…”  But his mind seemed to go blank, and he ground to a halt.  Why did his facility with language desert him at times like this?  “Thanks for teaching me,” he finished, feeling incredibly lame.

Nara smiled wider.  “Don’t mention it.  I’m really enjoying this.”

“Me, too!” he quickly responded.  “Very much so.  I really feel very fortunate.  To have met you.”  Daniel winced inwardly at how geeky that sounded.  He gazed into Nara’s lovely eyes and tried to get his meaning across through sheer intensity of feeling.

But Nara looked away and started fiddling with her data-wristlet.  Daniel’s heart sank.  After an awkward pause, she said, “You know, I think you’re ready to start studying the Book of Ashora, and the Founders’ other writings.  I know how eager you are to understand Ashoran culture in greater depth.”  Her tone was casually thoughtful, but she didn’t look up from her data-wristlet.  Daniel could tell he had once again made her uncomfortable.

_Why do you keep doing this, Daniel?_ he asked himself.  _Don’t you think it’s time to accept that Nara is only interested in friendship?  Hasn’t it become painfully obvious that whatever else you believe you sense is just wishful thinking?_

Nara sighed.  The hand she’d been using to pull nervously at a dangle on her data-wristlet grew still, and she just stared down at it sadly.  “Though I really don’t know why you care about studying my society, considering the way we’ve treated you.”

“Well,” said Daniel, “your culture _is_ unique.  I can’t help feeling fascinated.  Besides,” he added, “I may be a sex slave, but no one’s actually put me to work.”

Nara looked at him sharply.  “Ashasti wouldn’t… you know …”  She frowned.  “If I thought there was any danger of her _forcing_ you into anything, Daniel, I’d… well, I’d find a way to protect you.”  She said this with a serious, determined expression that Daniel found terribly endearing.  He was greatly touched – and once again impressed by the way Nara had transcended Ashoran conventions.  Most Ashoran women wouldn’t have acknowledged there was anything he needed protection from.

But the warm glow of his feelings for Nara was contaminated by simmering anger over his situation.  He hated knowing that he really _did_ need protection – that he was physically helpless.  And for a moment, Daniel had to wonder why it bothered him quite so much.  _You’d think I’d be used to it,_ he thought.  After all, he’d grown up feeling physically and socially vulnerable – first as an orphaned child, then as a teenaged “geek” who wasn’t as experienced or comfortable with fighting as other boys.

Maybe it was because he hadn’t had to feel that way in a while.  SG-1 had changed him.  One of the things he’d gained was the sense of feeling secure in his own body, and it was painful to lose that.  But at least he didn’t feel as alone as he once had.  Part of his team was still with him – along with new friends.

Smiling softly, he said, “I know I can count on you, Nara.  But I think you’re right about Ashasti.  Especially since it’s pretty obvious she’s not all that interested in me.”  His face scrunched up in frustrated puzzlement.  “It’s clear she loves Neralo very much.  So why is she doing this at all?  Why did she Claim me as a concubine?”

Nara shifted uncomfortably.  “That’s between Ashasti and Neralo,” she said.

“ _I’m_ what’s between Ashasti and Neralo,” said Daniel, his voice soft but edged with annoyance, “and I’d at least like to understand why.”

Nara gave him a sheepish look.  “Okay,” she said, “but you have to promise not to let Neralo know I told you.  He’d kill me.”

“My lips are sealed,” said Daniel.

Nara shook her head.  “It’s all so stupid.  It’s because of something that happened about a week before Ashasti Claimed you.  Ashasti went to the Coming-of-Age celebration of a friend’s daughter, and stayed out all night.  When she finally came home, Neralo started asking her if she’d spent the night at the House of Service – _accusing_ her, actually.  Ashasti felt his tone was inappropriate.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows.  “House of Service?”

“Yes,” said Nara.  “Ashasti’s friend had a huge party for her daughter at the House of Service itself.  At the big House of Service, the one attached to the Great Temple.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to give me a little more background here.  That’s an aspect of Ashoran culture I haven’t yet encountered.”

“Oh, right.  You see, our custom is for girls to have Coming-of-Age rites when they’re fifteen.  Well, that’s the usual age – a girl can delay it if she doesn’t feel ready.  During the rites, she’s introduced to the world of adult sexuality by a male acolyte of the Goddess – an Initiator.  Initiators are the only male members of the Ashoran priesthood.  They embody the Sacred Bull.”

Daniel’s eyebrows rose even higher.  “I see,” he said.  And he did.  Although the Ashorans’ primary deity was the Great Goddess, they also worshipped the Sacred Bull, who was said to bring forth the creative energy of the Goddess.  It was obvious the Sacred Bull represented the masculine principle.  It had been that way among the People of Light and Dark, too – the other Minoan-descended culture they had encountered through the Stargate – so Daniel assumed this reflected the original religion of the Ancient Minoans.  However, the People of Light and Dark didn’t practice the sort of rite that Nara was describing.  Daniel wondered if that custom had come down from the Ancient Minoans, or if it was a peculiarly Ashoran innovation.  Somehow, he suspected the latter.

And Daniel also suspected why Neralo had been so upset, but he wanted to be sure he understood.  So he asked, “This House of Service – what is that, exactly?”

“It’s a place that’s staffed by young, unmarried Sons of Ashora who have been accepted by the Temple as Initiator Candidates.  They’re trained by certain priestesses for the role of initiating young girls into womanhood.  But not all Candidates are actually ordained as Initiators.  Only those who show the greatest spiritual maturity, emotional sensitivity, and sexual skill are accepted for the position.  Initiators are the crème de la crème, because even becoming a Candidate is a highly selective process.  The Temple turns down thousands of applications every year.”

Daniel’s mouth and eyebrows twitched.  “Yes,” he said, “I can just imagine.”  Daniel hated gender stereotypes, but he had to admit there was a certain degree of truth behind some of them.  In his mind’s eye, he saw hordes of young men pounding on the Temple doors for the job of deflowering virgins.

Nara nodded solemnly.  “Many young Sons of Ashora dream of becoming Initiators.  It’s regarded as a sacred honor.  And though an Initiator performs his duties for only a few years, he keeps the status for life.  Initiators are the only males on Ashora who actually have the right to vote – though only in religious elections, not in secular ones.”

“Fascinating,” said Daniel.  _And telling_ , he thought.  _It really says something about which attributes this society considers most valuable in a man._

“Well,” Nara went on, “the thing is, Candidates spend one or two nights a week in the House of Service.  It’s part of their training program.  Women go there for festive occasions, or sometimes just if they’re feeling lonely.  Food and drink is available, and the Candidates provide sympathetic companionship – including sexual Service.”

“Ah,” said Daniel.  He’d suspected as much.  “So when Ashasti didn’t come home, Neralo was afraid she’d spent the night giving one of these Candidates some training.”

“But, ironically, that isn’t what happened,” said Nara.  “Ashasti did _not_ have sex with a Candidate.  She just drank a little too much and passed out.  She doesn’t hold her liquor very well.  But when Neralo started interrogating her about where she’d been all night, Ashasti got her back up and told him if she wanted to enjoy the Services of a Candidate, that was entirely within her rights as a Daughter of Ashora.  She told Neralo that he needed to stop behaving like some patriarchal barbarian who regarded his wife as property.”

“Ouch,” said Daniel.  “So Neralo naturally assumed that she _had_ slept with another man.  What did he do?”

“Nothing, at the time.  I think Neralo was stunned.  I think he was expecting Ashasti to reassure him that she really hadn’t been with another man.  Ashasti has never seemed interested in other men.  But, as a Son of Ashora, Neralo not only doesn’t have any right to object, he isn’t even supposed to _feel_ any objection.  So what _could_ he do?”  Nara sighed.  “My poor brother.  He brooded about it for a couple of days – and then he exploded.”

“Exploded?”

“It happened one morning after breakfast.  The children had just left for school, and Ashasti was getting ready to leave for work.  Suddenly, Neralo lost it.  He threw a glass against the wall and smashed it.  Then he picked up the kitchen table, and smashed _that_ against the wall, too.”

Daniel pursed his lips as he digested this.  If Neralo had been a chattel-male, that would have set off the anti-aggression programming in his Collar, but Golden Collars didn’t have that feature.  The anti-aggression programs weren’t entirely reliable, and even _Ashoran_ women apparently didn’t want their sons and brothers getting Punished for no reason.  However, male violence of any sort – even against inanimate objects – was a huge taboo.  According to Ashoran mores, it was the sort of behavior that called for “correction” from a Son of Ashora’s “Guardian.”  And Ashasti was Neralo’s Guardian.

“I take it Ashasti used the Collar to Punish Neralo,” said Daniel.

Nara gave him a significant look.  “No, she didn’t.  Even though most Ashorans would say that’s what she should have done.  Even though I’m sure Neralo himself would prefer that she had.”

Daniel winced.  “Oh, no.  Don’t tell me.  Ashasti decided to punish him a different way – by taking _me_ as a concubine!”

Nara shook her head.  “No,” she said, “it’s not like that.  Ashasti doesn’t think of it as _punishment_.  You have to understand – my sister-in-law is an extremely idealistic woman.  _Too_ idealistic, sometimes.  She sees _you_ , Daniel, as a way to help Neralo overcome his jealous nature.”

Daniel could feel his brows twitching rapidly in incredulity.  “Her logic escapes me.”

Nara sighed.  “Neralo’s violent outburst came as a great shock to Ashasti – and to Neralo himself, actually.  Sons of Ashora aren’t supposed to behave that way.  They aren’t supposed to have that sort of jealousy and anger inside them.  That’s regarded as a sign of corruption.  Neralo feels extremely ashamed of what he did – and Ashasti feels extremely worried about it.  She’s worried about the state of his soul.  And she’s gotten it into her head that by taking a concubine, she’ll be able to prove to Neralo that – just as the Book of Ashora says – her love for him will not diminish just because she has sex with another man.  She believes that once Neralo sees that, it will cure him of his jealousy.”

Daniel winced again, but he was beginning to understand.  “So Ashasti is actually doing this for _Neralo’s_ sake?  Oh, that’s messed up.”

“I know,” said Nara.  “I realized a long time ago that our ideas about male jealousy are crazy.  Most Ashoran men _do_ feel jealous; they just try to hide it – even from themselves.  I tried to talk Ashasti out of taking a concubine, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”  Nara’s eyes flashed.  “After all, I’m just her _lunatic_ sister-in-law who believes in Government conspiracies, and thinks that maybe kidnapping a man from another world and forcing him to have sex with you really _isn’t_ okay.  I mean, honestly!  What red-blooded Ashoran woman would listen to a fruitcake like me?”  Her tone was sarcastic, but her expression held hurt as well as anger.

Daniel’s heart swelled with sympathy and admiration.  “I know how it feels, Nara.  I’ve been regarded as a lunatic, too, and for the exactly the same reason – for having unconventional _but totally correct_ ideas.  But _my_ unconventional ideas were only about archeology.  Yours are about the way human beings should treat each other, which is a whole lot more important.  So hang in there, Nara.  Because I really believe the day will come when your people will appreciate everything you’re doing.”

Nara’s face shone at his words.  They gazed into each other’s eyes, and Daniel once again felt that deep sense of connection – and attraction.  But then a cloud of unease seemed to settle over Nara’s features, snuffing out the connection.  She broke eye contact, once again stared down at her data-wristlet and pulled at the pink dangle that hung from it.  Daniel felt bereft.

There was another uncomfortable silence.  Then, Nara’s mouth twisted.  Without looking up, she said, “But ‘everything I’m doing’ doesn’t amount to much, does it?”

“It amounts to _a lot_ ,” said Daniel, his voice firm.  _I can still give her my friendship and support,_ he thought, _even if she doesn’t want anything more._   “You and your dissident group have made a real difference.  You helped get a Charitist elected as High Priestess, didn’t you?”

Nara looked up at him, her expression brightening.  “Yes,” she said.  “That’s true.”

Nara had told Daniel the story.  During the recent election for High Priestess, Nara’s underground group had uncovered evidence that the Foundationists were running a smear campaign against the Charitist candidate.  They had handed the evidence over to certain friends in the press, and when the story came out, the resulting public outrage helped to get the Charitist elected.

“You said she’s the first non-Foundationist High Priestess in Ashora’s history, right?” continued Daniel.  “That strikes me as highly significant.  I get the feeling Ashoran society is starting to evolve away from matriarchy.  It’s got a long way to go, of course, but people like you are the ones who will make it happen.  One day, men and women on Ashora may be able to live together in much greater equality and harmony.”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed as an idea struck him.  “I wonder if the shifting mood on Ashora is what drove the Foundationists to create the New Start Program?  From what I’ve been learning, the Charitist Party is becoming a serious challenge to the Foundationists’ control of the Government.  After all, there are several Charitists on the High Council now, including your new High Priestess.  The Foundationist cabal must realize that increases the risk someone outside their little group will discover something about the Founders’ Secret.  That’s probably why they’re so desperate to develop memory erasure technology!”

Nara’s expression brightened as she considered this.  “If the Foundationists are afraid that change is in the air, maybe it really is!”  Then her face fell again.  “But if they perfect the memory erasure technology, they’ll be able to manipulate our society in all sorts of subtle ways.  They’ll prevent real reform from ever happening.”  Her face contorted in frustration.  “Damn it!  If only I could find incontrovertible proof of the Founders’ Secret, it would change everything.  The Foundationists would lose their grip on power forever, and Ashora would become a truly different place.”  Nara gazed at Daniel, her eyes full of yearning.  “A truly better place.”

*****

Daniel and Ashasti reached the top of the spiral staircase.  Another few steps, and they were at the door of Ashasti’s bedroom.  The door opened before them in response to Ashasti’s neural implants.  And after they passed through, the door shut behind them with a soft _click_ that made Daniel cringe a little.

The walls of Ashasti’s bedroom were sky-blue, patterned with slowly drifting white clouds.  It created the impression that Ashasti’s room was located on a high platform, surrounded by nothing but air.  Daniel remembered this room from his first night here, when he’d learned of his status as Ashasti’s chattel-concubine.  But thanks to the polite, desultory manner in which Ashasti had pursued her “rights,” he’d managed to avoid her bedroom ever since.

Until now.

Ashasti walked over to her bed and sat at the foot.  Now she was looking at him, and there was something very focused in her gaze.  She patted the mattress beside her and said, “Come here, Blue Star.”  Her tone was friendly but firm.  Quietly determined, in fact.  _She’s made up her mind to do her duty,_ thought Daniel.  _Oh, this is just so wrong, in so many ways._   But he was stuck.  He had to keep Ashasti occupied long enough for Sam and Nara and Neralo to free Jack.  So he obediently walked over and sat beside her.

Ashasti smiled at him, and the wall pattern changed.  The blue sky and white clouds dissolved into a facsimile of the sky at dusk, with the last glow of sunset still smoldering on his left, while on his right the first stars flickered in the approaching darkness.  Daniel was again reminded of his first night in Ashasti’s house.  He remembered how she’d said she loved the sky at dusk.  _She’s setting the mood,_ thought Daniel.  _What’s next?  The Ashoran version of_ Bolero?

But the room stayed quiet.  It was just the two of them, sitting together on her bed in the artificial twilight.  Her eyes glimmered mysteriously in the dimness as she reached up and gently brushed his hair.

Daniel surprised himself by not flinching.  He liked Ashasti, and it _did_ feel intimate, being here with her like this.  But it was a sad sort of intimacy.  For the first time, Daniel found his mind shifting away from the ongoing rescue attempt, and his feelings for Nara, and focusing on the woman who sat so close to him.  The woman who was planning to have sex with him out of misguided devotion to her husband.  Daniel’s heart suddenly filled with pity and concern.

“Ashasti,” he said, “you mustn’t do this.”  Ashasti frowned, obviously surprised by his words – and by the absolute conviction behind them.

“Look,” he went on, “I know what you’re trying to accomplish, and I can even sympathize with your reasoning, given your cultural background.  But regardless of what a Son of Ashora is _supposed_ to feel, the truth is Neralo will never be able to just stand by indifferently while you become intimate with another man.  You’re just torturing him.  And I know that isn’t what you want.  I know you love Neralo just as much as he loves you.”

Now Ashasti looked stunned.

“As a student of human history and culture,” Daniel continued, “I can tell you that humans rarely do well when asked to share their sexual partners.  Most people really aren’t cut out for that.  Most people find it very painful.”  He spoke quickly and fervently, hoping to get through to Ashasti before she started trying to block him out.  “I know you must be aware that Neralo is suffering, and that’s got to be hurting you, too.  Besides, you don’t _really_ _want_ to have sex with me, do you?”

Ashasti sprang up.  “That’s not true!” she sputtered.  “And that isn’t for you to say, anyway!  How did you know…”  She ground to a halt.  When she went on, her voice was tight.  “I can see Nara has been telling you things she shouldn’t.”  The wall pattern changed again, shifting back to a bright daytime sky – which made it easy to see the angry disapproval on Ashasti’s face.  “Nara’s judgment is sometimes quite poor.”

Daniel jumped to his feet and faced her.  “Nara’s judgment is just fine!” he snapped.  “You’re the one who doesn’t have a clue.  Can’t you see you’re destroying your family’s happiness?  Not just Neralo’s, but your children’s, too!”  Daniel gestured toward the roof of the house, where a landscaped patio provided a view of the city.  “Don’t you remember that night you invited me – excuse me, _ordered_ me – to have dinner with you on the roof, just the two of us?  Remember the way your daughter Meloria barged in on us, claiming she was having a crisis at school and just _had_ to talk to you right that second?  What do you think that was about?”

Ashasti’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.  She obviously wasn’t accustomed to having a chattel-male speak to her that way.  “Meloria is just a child,” she said.

“Yes!” cried Daniel.  “Exactly!  She’s a child, and she doesn’t want her family disrupted.  Don’t you think she can sense how unhappy her father is?”  Daniel didn’t add that Meloria – who was eleven – was openly hostile to him when the adults weren’t looking.  It wasn’t as if he could blame her.  _Daniel Jackson, home wrecker,_ he thought bitterly.

Now Ashasti’s face turned positively grim.  “You may be right about that,” she muttered worriedly.  “Neralo’s jealousy is probably having a negative effect on the children.”

Daniel practically bounced up and down with frustration.  “Ashasti, _no!_   That’s not the point!  Come on, just put yourself in his shoes.  How would you feel if Neralo had sex with another woman?  Even if you knew he loved you best, how would it make you _feel_?”

Ashasti gave him a bemused look.  “But that would never happen.  No Ashoran woman would have sex with a man unless she controlled his Collar.”

_Oh, should have seen that one coming,_ thought Daniel _._   “I’m speaking _hypothetically_.  Use your imagination.”

Ashasti frowned, and Daniel could tell she was considering what he had said.  But then she shook her head violently.  “No,” she said.  “That’s all wrong, Blue Star.  You’re still thinking in patriarchal patterns.  You’re still just a patriarchal barbarian!”

“I think what you really mean is that I’m just a _male_ ,” said Daniel, his voice light and quick.  “Just like Neralo.  Does matriarchy mean that Neralo isn’t entitled to be treated the way you’d like to be treated yourself, Ashasti?  Do you really believe that’s the way it should work?”

“You don’t understand anything!” shouted Ashasti, suddenly furious.  “Neralo is my husband!  I adore him!  And it is my sacred responsibility to protect him from corruption!”  Her angry expression crumpled into pain, then smoothed.  When she continued speaking, she sounded calmer, but she was staring into the middle distance.  “What Neralo has done is not his fault.  It’s mine.  Neralo’s _always_ been jealous, and I’ve always known it, yet I never tried to correct him.  I…” she frowned, looking deeply distressed.  “Sometimes, I sort of _liked_ it.  And that was very wrong of me.  If I’d corrected him earlier, Neralo would never have reached the point of having a violent outburst.  I failed him.”

Daniel sighed.  “This is even more messed up than I thought.”

“Shut _up_ ,” she ground out, her eyes flashing.  “I’ve heard more than enough patriarchal nonsense from you!”  It was evident that Ashasti’s shock at his attack on her worldview had turned into outrage.  Maybe he hadn’t chosen the best way to approach her – but then, he hadn’t made a conscious choice at all.  The words had just started pouring out of him.

“You’re wrong to think I’m not attracted to you,” she continued.  It sounded more like a declaration of war than a declaration of affection.  “I would never have chosen you as my concubine if I weren’t.  And I think it’s time for me to prove it.”

_Uh-oh,_ thought Daniel.  Ashasti took a step toward him.  Daniel took a step back – and then gasped as his penis leapt to attention so abruptly it was almost painful.

“Hey!” he yelled, fuming.  “I thought you didn’t believe in using the Collar that way!  I thought you said…”  His protests were cut off as Ashasti hit him with the Paralysis command.  He fell back on Ashasti’s bed, his body limp.  Well, _most_ of his body was limp.  It was obvious that a certain portion of his anatomy was exempt from the Paralysis command.

He lay on the bed awkwardly, with his legs hanging partially over the foot.  He couldn’t move at all, except for his eyes.  As Ashasti crawled up on the bed beside him, he tried to keep her face in his field of view.  She looked distressed, but also determined.

“I’m sorry, Blue Star,” she said.  “I know I haven’t handled this well.  It’s just I’ve never had a concubine before.”  For a moment, she looked on the point of tears.  Daniel realized everything that had been happening in her family – and at work, too – had been affecting her much more than she admitted.  “I should have remembered that patriarchal males need to truly _Serve_ a woman to be freed from their old thought-patterns.”  As she spoke, she reached down to Daniel’s loin-cloth and undid the clasp.  “But I won’t neglect you anymore, Blue Star.  I promise.  Things will be better from now on.”  She pulled the loin-cloth away, leaving him naked, his erection exposed.  Daniel’s stomach clenched with embarrassment and alarm, but there was nothing he could do.  He had no control over his body.

_God_ , he thought, _this is worse than I imagined_.  _Would Ashasti really just rape me like this?_ He wouldn’t have thought so, but he sensed that the dissonance between her ideology and her instincts was driving her a little crazy right now.  She seemed close to some sort of breaking point.  _Well_ , he thought, _at least I’m keeping her occupied while the rest of the team rescues Jack.  That’s what I meant to do all along, isn’t it?_

Daniel watched with growing anger as Ashasti stripped her clothes off.  He couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was, but he resented noticing, because he knew his current state of sexual arousal wasn’t natural.  She had _forced_ it on him through the Collar.

Once she was nude, Ashasti reached out and tentatively touched his cheek.  Then she ran her fingers down his body, and touched his genitals.  It made Daniel furious.  But when he saw the uncertainty in her face, his fury abated a little.  He could tell she’d never done anything like this before, and he knew she didn’t _mean_ to hurt him.  Ashasti curled her hand around his erect cock – and then stopped.  _Ah hah,_ thought Daniel.  _The idea of having sex with my paralyzed body isn’t much of a turn-on, is it?_

“Blue Star,” she said, “I’m going to un-Paralyze you.  But you mustn’t be difficult, or I’ll … I’ll have to Punish you.  Is that clear?”

When Ashasti released him from Paralysis, Daniel restrained the impulse to slap her hand away from him.  That would probably just set off the anti-aggression programming in his Collar.  And he had to remember he was supposed to be providing a diversion for the attempt to rescue Jack.  So he just sat up, fists clenching the bed sheets.

“That’s slightly better,” he told her, “but unless you stop controlling the _rest_ of my anatomy, I won’t cooperate with anything you want to do.”  He glared at her, his face inches from hers, while she continued to hold his erect penis.

That was when the door of Ashasti’s bedroom flew open, and Neralo rushed in, with Nara close behind.

Neralo froze, his face stricken.

Ashasti turned toward him in alarm, taking her hand off Daniel.  As soon as her attention shifted, Daniel felt his body return to his control.  When he caught sight of Nara’s appalled expression, all the blood seemed to rush out of his lower anatomy and into his face.

“Neralo!” cried Ashasti, clearly astonished.  “How did you…”  She looked at her bedroom door, then back at Neralo.  “You used your emergency access to unlock the door.  Neralo, you shouldn’t have done that.”  Her voice sounded faint and shaky.

Neralo stepped toward her.  His movements were jerky, like those of a crudely made marionette, and his expression seemed wooden and lifeless, too.  As Ashasti watched him, her chin began to quiver.

Daniel got up and moved away from Ashasti, grabbing a sheet and awkwardly wrapping it around his middle.

Ashasti didn’t even seem to notice.  All her attention was focused on her husband, who was now standing in front of her, his expression unnaturally stiff and unreadable.  Then Neralo fell to his knees before her, and all at once, his face seemed to crack open.  “ _No!_ ” he howled.  The sound came from his gut, full of primal rage and grief.  His face turned beet red, and veins stood out in his temples.  “ _No!_ ”  He grabbed the bed on either side of Ashasti so violently that it looked as if he would tear fistfuls out of the mattress.  He took a sobbing breath, and when he spoke again, his voice had become small and anguished.  “I _can’t_ , Ashti.  I can’t.  Please don’t…”  He put his head down into her lap, and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Ashasti’s body bent forward, and she reached her arms around her husband.  She was sobbing as well.  “All right,” she choked out.  “All right.”  She slid off the bed and onto the floor.  On their knees together, they embraced.

Daniel swallowed, his throat tight.  The emotions in the room were so intense that for a moment he’d forgotten everything else.  But now he approached Nara and hissed, “ _What happened?_ ”

Nara’s face was streaked with tears.  When her eyes met his, she sort of flinched.  But she said, “It’s okay.  Our plan worked.  Sam and Jack are on their way to the safe house.”

Daniel took a deep breath, feeling 10,000 pounds lighter.  He was elated – but only for a moment.  He couldn’t sustain the mood, not with Nara looking at him that way.  “How did you two end up here?” he asked softly.

“After we disconnected from the special interface we were using to support Sam, Neralo noticed the house had recorded Ashasti’s arrival.  I asked him where she was, and that’s when he stood up without a word and rushed out.  He must have seen that both she and you where in her bedroom, but he wouldn’t say anything.  I just followed him.”  Nara looked at Daniel accusingly.  “And how did _you_ end up here?”

“I ran into Ashasti as she was heading for her office!” cried Daniel.  “I couldn’t let her walk in on you and Neralo while you were working on rescuing Jack.  I had to do something.”  Looking once more at Neralo and Ashasti, Daniel was thankful he had resisted doing the most _obvious_ something.  The couple were now sitting on the bed, holding one another and talking softly.  If he and Ashasti had actually been doing the deed when Neralo walked in, it would have made the couple’s reconciliation much more difficult.  Perhaps impossible.

Nara looked away from Daniel.  “Of course,” she said, her tone stiff.  “You just did what came naturally.”

Daniel’s jaw dropped.  “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

Nara shrugged, and gave him a bitter glance.  “Well, you’re a _male_ after all.”

Her words hit Daniel like an electric shock.  “I can’t _believe_ you said that!” he cried, flailing his arms in agitation.  “Do you have any idea what I’ve just been through?  No, no of course you don’t, because on this world, only _men_ have to worry about being raped!”

Nara’s mouth tightened.  “Don’t give me that.  Ashasti doesn’t believe in using the Collar to control men’s sexual reactions.”

“She may not believe in it,” said Daniel, “but she _did_ it!  What do you think you were looking at when you walked into the room?”

Nara looked uncertain.  “Really?”  She examined his face for a moment, and then her expression softened.  “Oh, Daniel.  That must have been awful.”  She stepped closer, and put a hand on his arm.  Then she snatched her hand away again, as if she’d been burned.

Daniel glanced down at her hand, then up quickly at her face.  “What was that?” he asked.

“What was what?” she responded, obviously trying to look nonchalant.

Certain clues began to click together in Daniel’s mind.  The way she’d snatched her hand away was consistent with the way she carefully avoided any sort of contact with his body.  And he’d thought she was upset with him on her brother’s account, but then why had she seemed so relieved to learn that his sexual arousal was artificially induced?  If there was one thing Daniel had learned about Ashoran society, it was that male concubines were surrounded by powerful taboos.

Daniel looked at the slim, vibrant, strong-willed woman he had come to love, and felt simultaneously thrilled and dismayed.  “You’ve been brushing me off because I’m Ashasti’s concubine.  Haven’t you?”

The look on her face gave him all the answer he needed.  “Nara!” he cried.  “How could you?  After everything you’ve said about longing for sexual equality, and hating chattel-male slavery, how could you treat me as nothing more than another woman’s property?”

Nara’s faced crumpled.  “No, Daniel, please don’t take it like that.  It’s _complicated_.”

But Daniel had run out of patience and understanding.  After what had just happened to him – and everything that had been happening for the past two weeks – he couldn’t deal with this from Nara.  He deliberately turned his back on her, and discovered that Ashasti and Neralo were now gaping at him and Nara.  He realized he had raised his voice quite a bit.

Neralo looked at Nara and said, “I _knew_ you liked him.”

Ashasti’s eyes went first to Nara, then to Daniel, then back again, her mouth open in astonishment.  “Nara!” she cried.  “Have you been…”

Nara cut in before Ashasti could even finish her question.  “No, Ashasti!  I swear I haven’t!  I haven’t touched him!”

Daniel gave Nara a disgusted glance.  “Oh, I can vouch for that, Ashasti.  Nara definitely hasn’t been violating any Ashoran taboos.”

Nara turned to him, her green eyes full of pain.  “Daniel, please!  It isn’t just that.”  Her face twisted.  “Well, okay, I guess it _is_ that.  I’ve been feeling so torn and stupid about it, but it’s a gut reaction, and I can’t seem to get rid of it.  Because you’re not just _any_ woman’s concubine, you’re _Ashasti’s_ concubine.”  Nara gestured toward Ashasti.  “You’re supposed to belong to my sister-in-law, who’s done everything for me.  Who’s given me a job and taken me in when almost nobody else would.  And I’ve already been sneaking around behind her back, taking advantage of her generosity, to try to help you and your friends escape from Ashora.  So how could I…”  She grimaced.  “You have to understand, Daniel, interfering with another woman’s concubine is just the lowest thing an Ashoran woman can do.  And besides, you’re supposed to be leaving soon anyway!  And, besides…”  She ground to a halt.

“And besides, what?” asked Daniel.

But Nara looked down and shook her head.  “Nothing, Daniel.  You’re right.  I’m just a big hypocrite.  In the end, I’m no different from any other Ashoran woman.”  Looking up at him, she smiled bitterly, her eyes full of tears.  “So count your blessings.  The two of us could never have worked out anyway.”

Before Daniel could untangle his feelings enough to reply, Ashasti spoke.  “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Nara.  You’ve been saying for years that some of the things taught by the Book of Ashora can’t possibly be the true will of the Goddess, and I finally understand how right you are.  I only wish I’d listened to you long ago.”  Ashasti sighed.  “The truth is, there’ve been times I felt the Goddess prodding me to listen to you, but I blocked Her out because I was too busy feeling spiritually superior.  I’ve wronged you, Nara – along with my wonderful husband.”

Her eyes went to Neralo.  He squeezed her hand a little tighter, and said, “It was me, too, Ashti.  I was trying to live up to the Book of Ashora just as much as you were.”

Then Ashasti turned her gaze on Daniel.  “I think I may owe you the biggest apology of all, Blue Star.”  She caught herself, and smiled ruefully.  “I mean, _Daniel_.”  Her face pinched with distress.  “I’m so sorry, Daniel,” she said, her voice raw.  “What I almost did to you was _crazy_.  Crazy and terrible.  I don’t think there’s any way I can quite make up for it, but I’m going to try.  I’ll do my best to help you get back to your home world.”

Daniel blinked, surprised at how much it affected him to hear her apologize.  And to hear her use his true name.  “Thank you, Ashasti,” said Daniel.  He gave her a small smile.  “And by the way, I forgive you.”  Ashasti smiled back, and Daniel felt his hopes soar.

Only a few days previously, he’d thought he’d never see Jack again.  Now he knew that Jack was free and safe and with Sam.  Soon, the three of them would be together again.  When Daniel let himself imagine that, he really felt he could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  It was the blue, watery light of the ‘Gate, with home on the other side.  And Daniel suddenly felt convinced that Teal’c was waiting on the other side of the ‘Gate, too.  Somehow, he just knew that Teal’c had made it back.  When the three of them got home, SG-1 would be together again for the first time in over a year.  And now he had another team he could count on, too – an Ashoran team that stood ready to support SG-1.  Ashasti had come on board, and they also had Neralo, Lagash, and Ifefal.

And Nara.  But at this hopeful moment, Daniel didn’t want to remember Nara.  He didn’t want to think about the hope of love he was leaving behind.


	16. I Want to be Close to You

Sam watched herself in the mirror as she carefully probed along her hairline, attempting to slip a special tool under the putty-like, prosthetic “make-up” that had transformed her features into those of Insenstil, the reclusive Ashoran billionaire.  To her relief, the stuff lifted up fairly easily.  She hadn’t been certain she’d given the special solvent enough time to soak through and dissolve the adhesive.  After working at it for a few minutes, she ended up holding a rubbery sort of “mask” in her hands, and her own, fair-skinned features had re-emerged from beneath Insenstil’s darker countenance.  All that remained of Insenstil’s likeness were the circles of dark pigment around her eyes.  She looked like a raccoon, but besides that her face was her own again.

Sam turned her gaze to the collection of solvent bottles and odd implements arranged around the sink in the bathroom of the “safe house.”  She had already removed the special contact lenses and “false fingerprints,” as well as the tiny, subcutaneous devices that had helped alter her electronic identity.  Now, she just needed to wash the rest of the dark coloring off her body and out of her hair.

The sophisticated disguise, and the special solvents and stuff for removing it, were all courtesy of Nara’s dissident friends – along with this nondescript “safe house” in a suburb of Ashora City.  She couldn’t bring Jack home because her house-servants reported to the New Start Program, and she and Lagash already had a tricky enough time keeping them in the dark.  As a further security precaution – in case the Syndicate was somehow watching – Sam had covertly switched vehicles with one of the dissidents at a fueling station just outside Ashora City.  She had then driven Jack to this safe house in a ground car, while the dissident had continued away from the City in “Insenstil’s” air car.

Sam felt nervous that Nara’s dissident group knew so much about them, but without the disguise they had provided she didn’t know how she would have gotten Jack out alive.  After all, since the Syndicate had taken illegal control of Jack’s Collar by somehow falsifying his death, it was logical to assume they had total, unrestricted access to all the Collar’s capabilities – including the Death command, which could normally be accessed only by authorized Government personnel.  She had planned Jack’s rescue on that assumption, and Jack had confirmed she had been correct.  The Syndicate could have killed him with a thought.

Sam experienced a wave of intense relief that left her slumped against the edge of the sink, her body as loose as a wet noodle.  _Jack is safe now,_ she thought.  _Alive and safe._ She suppressed the need to see his face once again, to reassure herself that he was really okay.  She knew he was somewhere nearby, restlessly exploring the safe house.

_Better give him some space,_ she thought, _since it’s obvious he’s avoiding me._ Sam looked at herself in the mirror and saw sad resignation.  Because, of course, she couldn’t blame Jack for that.  Yes, she had rescued him, but it was her fault he’d needed rescuing in the first place.  It was her fault he’d spent almost two weeks at the mercy of criminals, without even the minimal protections that chattel-males normally got on Ashora.

Sam’s gut clenched as she remembered the Rainbow Room.  It had been such a glorious relief to finally see Jack alive for herself.  To touch his cheek, and look into his dark eyes once more.  To see him look back at her with recognition, and feel him lean his face against her hand.  For a moment, the room around them had fallen away – as if she and Jack had been teleported to an alternate dimension in which they floated together, completely at peace.

Then that horrible Syndicate woman, Elal, had made it clear what she’d done to Jack.  Sam had been consumed with rage.  Her hands had literally twitched with the need to snap Elal’s skinny neck.  She’d barely managed to get herself under control again, because she knew what it meant to be raped.  Even though her memories of what the Atrosians had done to her were only partially intact, they still haunted her.

What must Jack be feeling right now?  What wounds were hidden behind that expressionless facade?  He’d said so little on the way here.  He’d listened almost in silence as she filled him in on everything that had happened while he’d been held by the Syndicate.  She’d told him about Daniel, and the New Start Program, and the Ashorans who were helping them now.  She’d briefed him on the status of their plan to escape Ashora – emphasizing the progress they’d made, but not glossing over the problems still posed by the sheer number of guards at the Ashoran Stargate Facility.

But Sam hadn’t really explained why she’d left Jack locked in her bedroom, alone and helpless.  She’d meant to confess to him and beg forgiveness, but Jack had been so strangely passive and distant.  The car had been filled with the sound of her voice – giving a dry, “scientific” recital of facts – and it had felt like a desperate attempt to fill some great, echoing emptiness.  It was as if Jack weren’t really present; as if his soul had retreated behind a tremendous wall hung with “Keep Out” signs.  The connection she’d thought she’d experienced in the Rainbow Room was utterly gone.

So when Sam had tried to speak of what happened that fateful morning, the words had caught in her throat.  How could she tell Jack that she had allowed Lagash to confuse her about him?  How could she confess to such a failure of trust, when the result was that Jack had been left vulnerable to attack?  Though the conspiracy hadn’t succeeded in killing him, their attempt had resulted in his being enslaved and raped – and undoubtedly tortured, too.  How could she expect him to forgive her for that?

Sam gave herself a stern look in the mirror.  Jack was alive, and she had the privilege of helping him.  That was enough.

She looked down at the bottles around the sink and started reaching for the pigment solvent, but then remembered there was one more thing she should to do before showering the color from her skin and hair.  Sam selected a different bottle, unscrewed the lid, and put some of the fluid in her mouth.  Tossing her head back, she gargled with the stuff, then spit it out with a grimace.

It tasted foul, but it had done its job loosening the vocal distorter that had disguised her voice.  She could feel it at the back of her throat.  Reaching in with a finger, she managed to hook the device – which looked like a loop of thread – and pull it out.  But she almost gagged herself in the process.  She leaned over the sink for a moment, coughing, and then splashed water on her face and in her mouth.

“You okay?” said his voice.

Her heart skipped a beat.  It was ridiculous the effect his voice had on her.

She looked over and there he was, standing next to the bathroom wall, looking like the golden idol of some god.  Though he was no longer completely nude, his black loin-cloth did little to reduce the impact of the Syndicate’s “paint job.”  The gold body-paint, with its overcoat of wet-looking “glaze,” really did accentuate the beautifully masculine contours of his body.  Subtle dustings of glitter followed the shapes of his muscles, while bright swirls of metallic gold were splashed on his chest and stomach.  His hair looked as if it were made of very fine gold wire, and his large, long-lashed eyes were outlined in black, emphasizing their sensuality.

Seeing him like that filled Sam with conflicted feelings.  She had to admit he looked gorgeous – extremely sexy – but she felt guilty for thinking that, because the paint was also a reminder of his enslavement and abuse at the hands of the Syndicate.

She gave a nervous smile and said, “I’m fine, sir.  Just getting rid of the vocal distorter.”

His brows drew together.  “You called me ‘sir,’ ” he said.

Sam blinked.  “Did I?”

“Yeah.  Guess that means your memories are getting closer to the surface, and that’s a good thing, but…”  He paused and frowned.  “I prefer Jack,” he finally said, voice and eyes softening.

Sam’s heart flew into her throat.  Maybe he wasn’t as angry with her as she’d feared.

“Of course, Jack,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

He smiled a little and shifted awkwardly.  Then he said, “Glad you got your voice back.”  He gestured.  “And your face, too.”

Sam nodded.  “Yeah.”  Whatever that meant.  Her guts were fluttering with a mixture of hope and confusion.  What was going on with him?

“So,” he said, “guess now you just need to….”  He stopped.  For the first time since their escape, there was a trace of real animation in his face.  “Hey,” he said, looking at the collection of bottles, “you must have something to get that color off your skin, right?  Think it’d work on this paint?” he asked, pointing to himself.

“Yes,” said Sam, kicking herself for not having thought of that, “it probably would.”  Sam grabbed the container of pigment solvent and held it out to him.  “You’re supposed to use this with water, as if it were liquid soap.”  It occurred to Sam that she could help him wash the paint off – that they could help each other – but she didn’t dare suggest it.  Apart from whatever resentment he was feeling toward her in particular, she knew only too well that being raped could make sex in general seem repulsive.

“Thanks,” he said.  He took the bottle and walked briskly to the large shower stall.  Opening the frosted glass door, he stripped off his loin-cloth and stepped in.  Sam caught a glimpse of his shapely butt before he closed the door, and then wondered guiltily if she should have looked away.  Soon, the water was running, and steam began to drift out from above the glass door.

Sam sighed as she watched his golden silhouette moving behind the glass.  It was obvious he couldn’t wait to wash the paint off, which made her feel even guiltier for admiring the way it made him look.  But her mood had lightened considerably.  Jack seemed to be reaching out to her.  Maybe he was willing to forgive her after all!

She recalled the stunned joy she’d felt when Ifefal first told her she had seen Jack alive.  Sam had been almost afraid to believe it.  Could Jack really have evaded the Government conspiracy by falling into the criminal underground?  But Ifefal had been certain, and when the truth sank in, Sam had felt as if she, too, had come back from the dead.  Only then had she realized how grey her world had become, how drained of all color and life – because, suddenly, the colors were back!

But her joy had been short-lived.  It had soon been replaced by an almost unbearable tension between hope and fear.  Jack was alive, but in the hands of a criminal Syndicate.  He was being forced to perform before a crowd in ways she knew he would find demeaning, and who knew what other abuse he was experiencing?  She’d worked feverishly, day and night, to prepare his rescue.  And the entire time, she’d been tormented by the thought that her rescue attempt would fail, and result in Jack’s death, so that the nightmare she’d been living before she got Ifefal’s news would become real after all.  Jack would be dead, and it would be her fault.

She didn’t think she could have survived that.  She really didn’t.

_But it didn’t happen,_ she told herself sternly, _so pull yourself together!  The plan worked.  Jack is out of the Syndicate’s hands.  He is once again in_ your _Keeping._

Then Sam winced, ashamed to have felt such satisfaction at the thought of controlling Jack’s Collar.  That had been “Jamora” – the part of her that had learned to think like an Ashoran.  To “Jamora,” it was only right and proper to have that kind of power over “her” male.  But in her gut, Sam knew better.  She knew the imbalance of power was an alienating wedge between them.

During their journey here, she’d had to explain to Jack that even though his Collar was now tuned to her neural implants, that didn’t mean she could disable it.  The Collar didn’t permit that.  The best she could do was turn off the anti-aggression programming.  But she’d also told him they should be able to free him soon.  After all, the Syndicate had already cracked the Collar System – and Jack’s Collar contained the secret of how they’d done it.

Even before finding out about Jack, she and Ifefal had identified the “Death Protocol” as the key to defeating the Collar System.  What they’d since learned about the Syndicate’s operation confirmed they were on the right track, but working out the details had proven to be slow going.  By examining Jack’s Collar with the proper equipment – which Ifefal was bringing tomorrow – Sam was sure they’d be able to finish their work quickly.

Sam had related all this to Jack with enthusiasm, seeing it as good news.  But then she’d seen the expression on his face – or rather, the lack of expression – and realized Jack didn’t want to hear that he’d be free of the Collar _soon_.  He wanted his freedom _now_.

Was that when Jack had become so remote?  No, he’d been withdrawn even before that.  But hadn’t that conversation caused the emotional temperature to drop even further?  How must he feel, knowing that she was, in effect, his slave master?

Sam’s troubled chain of thought was broken by a sudden loud _clunk_.  Jack had thrown the shower door open, causing it to swing around and smack the wall.  He stood there naked, still covered with gold paint and “glaze,” but now dripping wet as well.  His flesh shone with a hard gleam, and his hair was a cap of molten gold.

There was a molten quality to his expression, too.  His dark eyes glowed with volcanic heat.  It was easy to imagine that the steam wafting around his body came from _him_ , not the shower.

He held up the bottle of solvent, clutching it so tightly the plastic caved in.  “ _Sam!_ ” he barked.  “Why isn’t it _working?_ ”

Sam goggled for a moment.  “It must be the wrong formula,” she finally said.  “But I’m sure Nara’s friends will be able to…”

Jack threw the bottle.  He threw it with such force that it bounced several feet off the tile floor, ricocheted off the wall, and bounded back across the room before coming to a rolling stop, dribbling fluid.  Then Jack stepped back against the side of the shower and slid down until he was sitting on the floor of the stall, with his back against the wall, his legs folded close to his body, and his forearms on his knees.  He stared straight ahead, at the other wall of the shower, expressionless and absolutely still.  Behind him, the water continued to fall, its white noise muffling all other sound and creating a kind of thick silence.

Sam reeled at the sudden change in the emotional atmosphere.  Jack had been remote in the car, but this was a lot worse.  It felt to Sam as if he had retreated behind a powerful force field – on the other side of the universe.  Despite that, she could still sense his pain and rage.  She gazed at his stony profile in anguish.  She felt helpless in the face of his withdrawal.

Without conscious thought, Sam found herself moving toward him.  It felt like moving through a freezing, intergalactic void.  She reached the shower door and crossed the threshold, into Jack’s steamy redoubt.  But Jack didn’t even look at her.  His only acknowledgement of her presence was to turn his head fractionally _away_.  Sam sat down in a heap, not able to get any closer.  Jack’s personal force field was too powerful, and she was too unworthy.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting there, in a trance-like state of misery, when his voice said, “Hey.”  Blinking away tears, Sam saw that he was actually looking at her now.  His face was blank, but pain flickered in his eyes.  “Stop that,” he said.  “Can’t you stop crying?”  His voice was toneless.  It didn’t even sound like him.

Instead of stopping, Sam started sobbing wildly.  “I’m sorry!” she cried.  “I’m sorry!”  She took a desperate breath, trying to get some control back, but she had lost it.  “Please… I know it’s my fault, but, _please_ …”  She didn’t get any further.  She was crying too hard to get any more words out, and besides, she suddenly realized how stupid the words were:  _Let me help, don’t shut me out, let me make it up to you…_ Her sobbing started morphing into hysterical laughter.  _Sure, I’ll just ask Jack to_ let me make it up to him _.  That’s guaranteed to impress!_

“Stop it!” snapped his voice.  And suddenly, he was there.  His hands were gripping her arms, and his face was inches from hers, full of fiery irritation.  “Pull yourself together!” he barked.  Sam drew a breath and felt herself doing just as he asked – because _this_ sounded like Jack.  He’d come back; he was _present_ again.  A shudder of relief passed through her.

Her hands reached out, touching his arms, resting on his shoulders.  And as she gazed into his eyes, she saw them soften.  His mouth lost that hard line.  “C’mere,” he murmured.

Her heart turned over.  She crawled into his arms and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the touch of Jack’s body against hers.  It felt so amazingly good.  His skin was cool with wetness, emphasizing the heat where their flesh pressed together.  Her clothes were getting more and more soaked from the steam and stray shower droplets, but the chill of wet cloth was offset by the warmth of his arms.  She felt enclosed in a protective bubble, hidden and safe.  She had joined Jack behind his force shield.

Sam shuddered again as another wave of tension left her.  She could feel her body gradually relaxing, ridding itself of all the anguish and stress – and she could feel the same thing happening to Jack’s body.  So, was she somehow comforting him after all?  That was good – because he was the one who’d just come back from enslavement and abuse, yet _she’d_ ended up crying on _his_ shoulder.  How exactly had that happened?

_Do you have to analyze everything?_ she asked herself.  She snuggled against his chest.  Yes, this was infinitely better than trying to think things through – or talk them out.  If only she could stay here like this forever, wrapped in the sensual comfort of his steamy embrace.

Sam sighed.  _If only._

Perhaps sensing the change in her mood, Jack shifted his hands to her shoulders and looked at her.  “You doing better?” he asked.

Sam did not miss the irony of the question.  She searched his face, but he looked normal again.  “Yes,” she said.  “Much better.”  She paused, quailing a little, before adding, “And you?”

He raised his chin a fraction and said, “Oh, I’m doing great.  Just wonderful.  Fabulous.  Peachy.”

Sam had to smile.  She loved this man.  He was mocking his need to hide his emotional vulnerabilities – and using the self-mockery to hide his emotional vulnerabilities.  Who else could pull that off with such finesse?

“So,” he continued, turning the subject back to her, “are you over that ‘it’s all my fault’ crap?”

“I am if you’ve forgiven me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” he said.

Sam found herself biting her lip.  That was just a little too easy.  “Jack,” she whispered, “I left you alone.  I should never have left you for so long.  I should never have let Lagash confuse me like that…”

_“Sam,”_ he interrupted.  His voice was soft but full of authority, his gaze serious.  “ _Of course_ you were confused.  These people were messing with your head for months!  They took away your memory, and then pulled out all the stops to worm their way into your confidence.  There’s no way you could have instantly snapped back from that kind of brain washing.  I think you recovered pretty damn fast, considering.”

The corners of his mouth turned down, and pain flashed in his eyes.  “Considering you lost a whole year of your life,” he said, voice very soft.  He looked down.  “Never should have let the two halves of the team get so separated,” he muttered.

Sam felt a kind of shock go through her.  _He blames himself,_ she thought.  _He blames himself for my kidnapping, and everything that’s happened to me since.  He’s been blaming himself for a year!_ Sam’s perspective underwent a seismic shift.  Her spirits grew strangely lighter, as if she’d been relieved of an enormous weight.

“Oh, God, Jack,” she said.  “We’re quite a pair.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, obviously not getting it.

“You are _not_ responsible for what’s happened to me over the past year, Jack!  The Atrosians kidnapped me, and beat and raped me.  The Ashorans stole my identity.  _They_ are responsible, not you.”

Jack scowled.  She could almost hear what he was thinking:  _Of course I’m responsible!  I was in command!_   As she sat there facing him on the floor of the shower, their legs touching, and watched the stubborn thunder gathering in his face, she felt a tremendous sense of closeness.  It was the opposite of the awful distance she had felt before.  It felt wonderful – but there was a touch of sad irony in it, too.  Because, in some ways, she and Jack were all too alike.

Jack opened his mouth – undoubtedly to argue with her – but she cut him off.  “ _Jack!_ ” she cried.  “Can’t you see you’re doing the exact same thing that I did?  Blaming yourself for my ordeal on account of some tiny lapse in judgment – if it was even that – when it’s obvious where the real blame lies?”  She threw up her hands in exasperation.  “Just look at us.  We’ve both been through hell!  We’ve both been kidnapped and tortured and raped.  _And_ ,” she added, more softly, “we’ve each been through the hell of believing the other was lost forever.”  Her voice caught.  It hurt to remember.  A slight, poignant smile touched her lips.  “Why do we have to make everything even harder on ourselves than it already is?  Couldn’t we give ourselves a little more slack?”

Sam watched her words penetrate.  She watched the irritation give way to a carefully masked thoughtfulness.  And as she studied Jack’s face, and saw the fire of his remarkable spirit subtly reflected in his eyes, she felt overwhelmed by love for him, and full of gratitude for being able to be with him like this.  For an instant, the love she felt for him seemed to open up into something larger, like a river leading to the sea.  She felt suspended in peace and love, lifted above all the pain she had ever known – and all the pain she would yet know.  _Thank you,_ she silently prayed.  _Whoever You are, thank you.  I promise to get to know You better._

After a moment, Jack put on that open-mouthed, dumbfounded look he was so fond of, and said, “We _are_ quite a pair, aren’t we?”  One side of his mouth tipped up, and a gleam of mischief came into his eyes.  “I look like King Midas’s lawn ornament, and you look like… a panda.”

“A _panda_?” exclaimed Sam.  But, unfortunately, she understood – black body, white face, black circles around the eyes.  She winced at the mental image of what she must look like right now, in her partially removed disguise and soaked Ashoran clothes.

Jack’s smile had widened.  “Did I ever mention,” he said, “that I think pandas are damn cute?”  His eyes flicked over her body, glowing with warmth, humor – and something more.

Sam’s stomach fluttered.  “Did I ever mention,” she said, her voice rough with emotion, “that I love you?”

Jack’s smile grew tremulous, his gaze serious.  “Not in so many words,” he murmured.

“Then I guess it’s about time,” said Sam, thinking back to that other conversation they’d had in a bathroom.  An interrupted conversation, which they were at long last getting the chance to finish.  “I love you.  And I want to be with you for the rest of my life.  If you’ll have me,” she said.

Jack’s eyes shone in response, making her heart leap.  He reached out, taking her face into his hands.  “That’s a ‘Yes,’ ” he said.  And then he leaned in and kissed her.

His mouth was hot and velvety.  Sam felt the warmth of the long, tender kiss seeping into the core of her body.  She melted against him, once again luxuriating in the feel of his cool, damp flesh quickly turning hot against hers.  But this embrace was different.  There was an pleasurable tension to it that had been missing before.  Their bodies began to rub slowly against one another, and their hands went exploring…

Sam pulled back, her heart thudding with excitement – and fear.  She searched his dark eyes, which seemed larger and more richly brown than ever, thanks to the eyeliner and gold shadow.  She remembered how she had admired the effect of the body-paint earlier, feeling aroused by the fantasy of making love to Jack in such a hyper-erotic guise.  But now that the fantasy had become a real possibility, she found she didn’t care about the way he looked.  She only cared about _him_.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.  “Are you sure it’s not…”

“ _Ah!_ ” he exclaimed, raising an admonitory finger.  “You’re thinking too much.  Didn’t we agree you’d quit doing that?”

Sam felt torn between amused affection and exasperated worry.  “We agreed to ‘give ourselves more slack.’  That includes _you_ not pushing yourself to be Mr. Invulnerable.”

“Don’t you mean Mr. Incredible?” asked Jack.  “That was a pretty good cartoon, though not my favorite.”

_“Jack!”_ She gave him a pleading look.  “Don’t try to bluff your way through this.  If it’s too soon, I totally understand.  Remember, I know how it feels.”

_“You don’t know how it feels to me!”_ he suddenly snapped.  Then he scrubbed his face, and the anger left him.  “Are we going to start bickering like an old married couple already?” he asked.  “What happened to the honeymoon?”

“Jack,” she said again, this time helplessly.  His mask was wavering, giving her glimpses of what lay beneath:  love as deep as the ocean, pain like a transoceanic rift.

“Look,” he said, “I know why you’re worried.  I know I kinda checked out on you before, but that’s ‘cause I wasn’t thinking straight.  I got this idea in my head that if I could get this paint off,” and he gestured toward the gold on his body, “I’d feel more like myself.  Like I said, I wasn’t thinking straight.  It’s just paint.  But when I couldn’t get it off….”  He stopped, and looked away.  Sam waited, knowing that Jack was stepping beyond his normal boundaries.

When he met her eyes again, there was something uncharacteristically exposed in his gaze.  “I was afraid,” he said simply.  “Ever since you got me out of that place, I’ve been feeling scared that what happened to me there would come between us.  And I’m so goddamn sick of something always coming between us, Sam.”  There was a hard light of anger in his eyes, now – but she knew it wasn’t directed at her.

Sam’s throat was tight.  She was close to tears again.  “And I thought you were angry at me,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Jack.  “I finally figured that out.  If we’re ever going to make this work, Sam, there’s one last thing we need to keep from coming between us.”  He gave her a lopsided smile.  “Us.”

She smiled and slipped back into his arms.  It felt so utterly natural to be there.

He stroked her back, and spoke against her hair.  “It’s okay, Sam.  You don’t have to worry, ‘cause I’m not afraid anymore.  You took that fear away.”  He paused.  “I know what I want.  I want to be close to you.”

She pulled back enough to look at him, and held his eyes as, without a word, she removed her soaked Ashoran jacket.  Then she began unfastening the bodice – the same peacock-blue, bare-breasted bodice she’d worn on the first night they’d made love.  She smiled slowly as the memories washed over her, and she saw from the heat in Jack’s gaze that he was remembering, too.

“Careful with that outfit,” he said.  “I’m kind of attached to it.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling.  “I’m pretty fond of it, too.”

By the time he helped her pull off the skirt and underpants, it was clear his ordeal at the Arena hadn’t damaged his libido.

It was different from their first night together.  It was especially different from that first time together, when they had attacked each other frantically.  Tonight, they drifted into a timeless zone of erotic tenderness.  It was fortunate that the shower stall was spacious, and that Ashoran technology ensured an endless supply of hot water, because they took a long, long time.

Making love felt like that steamy embrace that had first bridged the distance between Jack and herself – the one she’d wished could last forever, because she’d felt so close to him.  Except _this_ embrace was more intense, more intimate, more complete.

Now, they were even closer.


	17. Our Little Army

Jack lay in bed quietly, watching the ceiling slowly brighten as dawn light suffused into the room, and enjoying the feel of Sam’s naked body snuggled up against his.  She lay on her side, with her arm flung over his chest.  Her breath sighed against his cheek in the soft, slow rhythm of sleep.  After their marathon love-making session in the shower, they had retreated to the bedroom in a state of delicious exhaustion and fallen asleep instantly.  Apparently, Sam hadn’t yet gotten all the rest she needed.  The poor, sweet girl was still tuckered out.

Jack grinned to himself.  He felt pretty damn good.  Not like an old man at all.  Where were all those little aches and pains?  These days, his cantankerous joints kept up an almost constant background mutter of complaint, which rose to loud yells of protest whenever he asked them to put out a little extra effort.  It usually took beer to shut them up.  He’d had no beer, but his body and mind had just received something even better, so he was undoubtedly experiencing a natural high.

Yep.  He felt twenty years younger.  He hadn’t felt this good since – well, since the last time he’d woken up next to a naked Sam.  And the last time had been the first time he’d seen her in over a year.

A year without Sam.  What a God-awful year that had been.  But everything was okay now.  They were together again.  They were _really_ together at last!

Jack closed his eyes a moment, full of wonder at the realization that he felt _happy_.  Genuinely happy, despite everything that he’d been through, and all the dangers and uncertainties that still lay ahead.  It was amazing how everything else could be swept aside by being with the one you loved – and knowing that the one you loved loved you back.  That had to be just about the highest high that life had to offer.

But when Jack opened his eyes, he found himself refocusing on his surroundings.  On the fact that he and Sam where lying in an unfamiliar room on a hostile planet a zillion light years from Earth.  They weren’t home free yet – not by a long shot.

His paranoid instincts kicked in, whispering that it was dangerous to be feeling so euphoric when his team was still such a long way up the proverbial creek.  They’d found Sam, but he still had to get her and Daniel home.  As for Teal’c, he could only hope the big guy was already home, because if he wasn’t, there was nothing he could do about it.

_Aw, crap.  I’m still in command._   As he remembered that, he found he didn’t feel so good anymore.  Because war was always hell, but the lowest circle of hell was reserved for those in command.  And it wasn’t just being responsible for keeping your friends alive that made it so hard.  The worst part was knowing that, if it came down to it, you had to be prepared to sacrifice your friends.  You had to be willing to weigh one life against many, and make the terrible choice…

_Sam was standing at the intersection of several SGC corridors, looking fragile and vulnerable in hospital pajamas.  But it wasn’t really Sam.  It wasn’t her spirit staring at him out of those great, cobalt eyes.  It was someone else entirely – some_ thing _else.  Some utterly alien intelligence that had flatly declared its hostile intentions toward Earth.  It had occupied Sam’s body, and was holding her hostage – or maybe just pretending to.  Doc Fraiser had said she could no longer detect Sam’s brainwaves, but he hadn’t given up hope._

_The entity raised Sam’s arms, and lightning flew up from her fingertips, to be absorbed by electrical conduits in the walls and ceiling.  Teal’c spoke, his voice even more stoical than usual, warning him that the entity was probably trying to return to the mainframe.  He fired his zat, but the stun setting didn’t work.  The entity only paused for a moment, giving him a wide, defiant glare.  Then it resumed shooting energy into the infrastructure of the SGC._

_A wave of burning cold flashed through his body, and he found himself doing something that he’d long ago trained himself not to do, something that was usually lethal in combat:  he hesitated.  He knew what had to come next, but he couldn’t do it._

_Then he remembered – Sam was a soldier, too.  That was the only thing that made the burden of command bearable.  Those you led were your “brother warriors,” as Teal’c would put it.  And sister warriors.  They, too, had pledged their lives to protect the innocent, and you had to honor that commitment.  The last thing Sam would ever want was for him to betray his duty –_ their _duty – because of his personal feelings for her._

_So he took all his emotions and stuffed them down hard and deep.  Then he raised his zat and fired for the second time.  Feeling empty and not entirely real, he watched Sam’s body crumple to the floor._

_No,_ he thought, suddenly near panic. _Don’t ask me to do that again.  NO MORE._

Jack shifted restlessly, but when he felt Sam stir beside him, he froze.  Desperately, he began shoving the awful memory and all his emotional conflict into his mental basement.  At first it wouldn’t go in, which sent a jolt of fear up his spine, but then he got angry and kicked its ass down there.  Relieved, he stared up at the ceiling while his heartbeat gradually slowed.

_Okay, Jack,_ he told himself.  _You just went from on-top-of-the-world to scared shitless in 60 seconds flat.  You are fucked up._

Which was no surprise.  Even being with Sam couldn’t entirely wipe away the repercussions of the ordeal he’d just been through.  His head was kind of messed up right now, and he didn’t need a shrink to tell him that because he knew the feeling all too well.  But he also knew he was capable of functioning effectively anyway.

Yep.  He’d done it before, he could do it again.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” murmured Sam’s sleepy voice.

Jack’s heart gave a ridiculously frightened leap.  He turned and wrapped his arms around her, hiding his face against her neck.  Had she just woken, or had she been watching him for a little while?  He didn’t want Sam to know how discombobulated he felt.

Then he remembered what she’d said about being Mr. Invulnerable, and felt strangely self-conscious.  Even a little guilty.

Jack pulled back and looked into her face.  “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.  And God, she was.  She looked so damn cute, with those panda-circles still around her eyes, and that sleepily self-satisfied expression.  The panda that ate the canary.

He had to grin.  Suddenly, he was back to feeling giddily happy.  Impulsively, he started tickling Sam’s stomach, where he’d already learned she was sensitive.  She squirmed and giggled and counter-attacked, and they were off – tickling and play-wrestling, acting like a couple of sixteen-year-olds silly with first love.

Then Sam’s expression sobered, and Jack could feel the high spirits rush out of her.  He knew Sam had remembered, just as he had earlier, that they weren’t home free yet.  When she pulled away and sat up against the headboard, Jack did the same.  “I know,” he said, voice quiet and steady.  “We’ve got a trip to plan.”  He gave her a deadpan look.  “Don’t let me forget to pack my underwear, honey.”

Sam smiled and, as he had intended, seemed to relax a little.  Glancing at the chronometer on the wall, she said, “Ifefal should be here in a couple of hours.  With the equipment she’s bringing, it shouldn’t take us long to figure out how the Syndicate disabled your Collar.”

“How long’s not long?”

“I’m hoping we might finish the algorithm today, but after that we’ll need to build and program the hardware.  That might take another day or two.  Sorry, Jack.  I know you’re anxious to be free of that thing.  But at least we don’t have to worry about alerting the authorities when your Collar deactivates, since it’s already been removed from the official system.  You can be our test case.  I won’t be able to disable Daniel’s Collar, or Lagash’s either, till the last minute, because the Collar System will report they’ve died, and the Government will investigate.”

Jack sat up a little straighter.

“How would this hardware work, Sam?  I mean, what would be the range?  How close to a Collar would you have to get before you could disable it?”

Sam gave him a rueful look.  “If you’re imagining we might somehow broadcast a signal that would cause Collars to be deactivated _en mass_ , creating total chaos and allowing us to escape during the confusion, I’m afraid I’ve concluded that won’t be possible.  It has to do with the way the Collar System is designed.  You see, Ashoran women are jealous of their control over “their” males.  I’ll spare you the technical details…”

“You will?” put in Jack, giving her a pleasantly surprised look.

Sam smiled and continued.  “…but the upshot is that the deactivation protocol will require input from a woman’s neural implants, and since the woman in question won’t be the Registered Controller, the “control radius” signature must be intact.  That means the maximum effective radius of the Collar deactivation signal will be about 20 feet from the neural control point.”

Jack smiled slowly.  “I think we can work with that.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“According to what you’ve told me, the main obstacle to reaching the Ashoran Stargate is the size of the guard contingent, right?  You said there’s thirty soldiers at the ‘Gate Room, with another sixty nearby.  And the ‘Gate Facility has an anti-cloaking field, which makes it impossible to sneak in using personal cloaks.  Which means our party would have to fight its way in, and you can’t figure out how a handful of people would be able to do that.  Well, I can’t figure that out either.  What we need is more manpower.  How about forty men – most of them with military training, and all of them motivated as hell to get off Ashora?”

Sam blinked at him in surprise.  “Are you telling me that forty men are being held at the Arena facility?  We didn’t think there were nearly so many.”

“There are actually forty-three all together, but I was only counting the ones we can depend on to fight their way to the Stargate.”  He winced.  “One of the men is brain-damaged, so we can’t expect him to fight, but we can still take him with us.  I’m sure I could get him to follow orders.”

“And the other two?” asked Sam.

Jack’s heart swelled with hatred and revulsion as he recalled Bruiser’s face, with its mask-like swath of black paint.  The mask was pierced by angry red rings, out of which Bruiser’s eyes shone with a cold, empty glitter.  He remembered the sound of Bruiser’s laughter, which was strangely high and tinny for such a huge man, and his rankly masculine smell…. 

Looking away from Sam for a second, Jack pulled the emergency brakes on his train of thought. _Nope.  That memory stays in the basement.  Forever._ Carefully schooling his voice and expression, he said, “The other two men are collaborators.  They’re not coming with us.”

_Sweet Ass can stay on Ashora, since he likes it so well,_ thought Jack.  _As for Bruiser…_.  He found himself smiling as he imagined meeting Bruiser again – _after_ Sam had deactivated the goddamn Collar.  And it was going to be such a pleasure to drop in unexpectedly on his old friend Umala….

“Jack?” came Sam’s voice.  She was watching him with concern.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said shortly.  In fact, he was annoyed with himself for allowing his mind to drift into a vengeful reverie.  All this mental wobbling had to stop.  They had a mission to accomplish.

Abruptly swinging his legs around, he got out of bed and walked over to a bureau.  He picked up a glass ornament and began tossing it from one hand to another, using the repetitive action to soothe his thoughts and focus his mind.  “How’s this for a plan.  We sneak into the Arena facility using personal cloaks, and deactivate the men’s Collars.  Then we take out the Trainers.  There are only ten of them.  We let the men know they can get off this fun-filled little rock if they help us attack the Ashoran Stargate, and we equip them with cloaks and Ashoran weapons.  Okay, I admit most of them are used to swords, but they’re still soldiers who’ve seen actual combat, and that’s worth a lot.  We’ll give them a crash course on the joys of ray guns.

“Now, you said the Stargate Facility and the Arena are practically next door, right?  So we literally _march_ our little army to the entrance of the Stargate Facility, using the personal cloaks to hide our movements.  Our cloaks won’t work inside the Stargate Facility, but we launch a surprise frontal assault.  Our forty-five soldiers overcome their thirty guards and take control of the ‘Gate Room.  The Ashorans send reinforcements from the nearby guard barracks, but our little army holds the ‘Gate Room long enough for us to dial Earth and use that GDO you recovered to transmit SG‑1’s IDC signal.  Then we get the hell out of Dodge.  Once everybody’s through the Stargate, we close the iris, and that’s it.  We’re home free.”

Jack stopped tossing the ornament and looked at Sam.  “Okay, I realize a lot depends on the exact floor plan and defensive layout of the Stargate Facility, which I haven’t seen yet.  But you have, so what do you think?”

Sam bit her lip.  “Using the men from the Arena to augment our numbers is an interesting idea.  And I know you’re anxious to rescue them.”

Jack felt his jaw tighten.  “But?”

“I’m afraid you’re making some false assumptions, Jack.  You’re thinking I could supply enough cloaks and guns for all those men, but I can’t.  Even though I work inside the Bureau of Defense, I can’t conceal the theft of more than five or six cloaks, and the same number of military-grade guns.  If I tried to steal a larger number, or take more powerful weapons like bombs, I’d almost surely get caught.”

“Maybe we could get the equipment from other sources, Sam.”  He smiled grimly.  “We already know this planet has a lively Black Market.”

“We could look into it,” said Sam.  “But I have to be honest with you:  I’m not hopeful.  Ashora has very tight controls on military equipment.  It’s possible we could acquire enough police-issue stun guns to equip forty men, but there’s no non-military version of the personal cloak.”  Sam sighed.  “And besides, your plan doesn’t take proper account of the fact the Stargate Facility is _inside_ Government House.  I don’t think you understand the nature of Government House – which isn’t surprising, since you’ve never seen it.”

Jack frowned.  “You said it’s a huge complex that includes all the agencies of the Ashoran Government, plus a bunch of other stuff.  You said it’s almost a city in itself.”

“Yes.  But when I say it’s a complex, I don’t mean a bunch of separate buildings.  The whole thing is one enormous, labyrinthine structure, some of it underground.  Besides tight electronic security, there are manned checkpoints at all the entrances and at numerous strategic intersections inside.  Since the ‘Gate Room is underground, at the bottom of the labyrinth, it’s a long way from any of the entrances.  So our ‘little army’ would have to start fighting long before they ever reached the Stargate security foyer.  Any element of surprise would quickly be lost.  They’d end up facing the full might of the Ashoran Government right inside its own House!  Our ‘little army’ wouldn’t stand a chance, Jack.”

“But their security can’t be _that_ good, Sam.  After all, the Syndicate breaches it all the time.  They’ve smuggled me and a lot of other men out of Euthanasia House, which is also part of the complex.  Right?”

“That’s true.  But Euthanasia House isn’t one of the high-security areas, so it’s not protected by anti-cloaking devices.  I can imagine getting a cloaked man out from that point.  I can even imagine getting a few cloaked people _in_ as far as the entrance to the Stargate security foyer.  I think I’ve got that part figured out.  And I think I’ve got a viable plan for deactivating the automated weapons emplacements inside the ‘Gate Room, too.  The guards are the real stumbling block.”  Sam sighed.  “Which is why I really wish we could use those men from the Arena.  They would certainly increase our chances of taking and holding the ‘Gate Room.  Unfortunately, they would also make it impossible to reach the ‘Gate Room to begin with.”

Jack started to pace.  He could feel his blood pressure rising.  “Are you sure you can’t get more personal cloaks, Sam?  There must be a way to get our guys in there.”  He suddenly felt almost overwhelmed by pent-up rage.

A pleasant chiming sound rang through the room.  Jack froze and gave Sam a questioning glance.

“It’s okay, Jack.  That’s the doorbell.  And this house has a robust security system.  If our visitor were someone the house didn’t recognize, that would have been an alarm.  It’s probably Ifefal, but I’ll check.”

Sam stared at the bedroom wall, and a holographic “window” opened in it.  It showed a red-haired Ashoran woman who was obviously standing at the front door.  The image had that perspective you got through a peephole, where you looked down at someone who was standing very close but staring ahead looking at nothing instead of looking back at you.  Or, as in this case, glancing around rather furtively.

“It’s Nara,” said Sam, sounding surprised.  “Wonder what she’s doing here?”

*****

When Sam opened the front door, she was careful not to be visible from the street.  Nara slipped in quickly, and Sam closed the door behind her.

“Hi,” said Nara, smiling rather wanly.  “Hope you and your friend are…”  Nara broke off and goggled as she caught sight of Jack.  He was still a golden icon of masculinity, though he had put on a black loin-cloth.  “…doing well,” Nara finished, sounding rather uncertain.  Jack was gazing at Nara expressionlessly, but there was something about him that screamed “dangerous wild male.”

“Nara,” said Sam, “may I present Colonel Jack O’Neill of Earth.  Jack, this is Nara Daughter-of-Reinia.  Without her help, I could never have gotten you out of the Arena facility.”

As Sam had hoped, this caused Jack’s expression to soften.  That charismatic warmth began to shine through.  “Thanks,” he said to Nara.  “I owe you.  Big time.”

“You’re welcome,” said Nara, studying him with fascination.

“So,” said Sam, “I take it you have some news.”  One of the frustrating things about their little conspiracy was that they had to avoid electronic communications.  Though Sam was able to fool the New Start Program’s homing beacon surveillance, that was separate from the Ashoran Government’s normal oversight of electronic traffic, which was highly sophisticated and was undoubtedly monitored by the New Start Program.

“Yes,” said Nara.  “A lot’s been happening.  For one thing, Ashasti knows about us now.”  And her features took on a sad expression that filled Sam with alarm.

“Did Ashasti alert the authorities?” she cried.

Nara looked startled.  “No!  Nothing like that.  On the contrary, Ashasti has joined us.  We won’t have to sneak around anymore to use her computer resources or money.  She’s agreed to do everything she can to help you escape from Ashora.”

“Oh,” said Sam.  “That’s good news.”  Which left her wondering why Nara looked so sad.

“That’s not what I came to tell you, though,” said Nara.

Sam’s tension level rose again.  She glanced nervously at Jack, who was listening quietly, missing nothing.

Nara noticed her reaction and said, “Don’t worry!  I think this is good news, too.  Possibly very good news.  You see, I couldn’t sleep last night, so I started doing more research on the Syndicate’s connection to the Pleasant Boulevard Underground Garage.  As you know, we’ve already discovered that the contractor who built the Underground Garage was a Syndicate front company.  So we figured the Syndicate built the Arena facility at the same time, using the Underground Garage work to cover their activities.”

“Yes,” said Sam, wondering where this was leading.

Nara got an intense gleam in her eye that reminded Sam a lot of Daniel.  “Something kept nagging at the back of my mind – something about underground facilities near the site of the Founder’s Landing.  So, last night, I did some digging in the historical archives.”

She suddenly grinned triumphantly.  “I don’t think the Syndicate built the Arena facility.  I mean, not the underground chambers that _contain_ the facility.  I think they just stumbled onto those as they were digging the Underground Garage and decided to use them for their own purposes.  You see, I found some archival material about a bunker project that was begun by the Founders but never finished.  They built some hardened underground chambers but never furnished or used them.  They just filled the chambers in again, and over the years some of the records were lost and the whole project was forgotten.  But the remaining records are consistent with the location of the Arena facility.”

“Okay,” said Jack.  “So maybe the Syndicate didn’t build a new underground facility.  Maybe they just took over an old, forgotten one.  How does that help us?”

A silent explosion went off in Sam’s head.  “Jack!  Remember how I told you about Government House, and how part of it is underground?  That’s because Government House has grown out of some of the structures the Founders built right after the Landing, which included a system of bunkers.  The Founders weren’t certain if their new colony would be noticed by the Goa’uld, so they created an underground fortress.”

Jack’s mouth dropped open, and Sam knew he’d figured it out, too.  “Holy crap!  There’s a secret tunnel between the Arena facility and Government House!”

“The records didn’t say that explicitly,” said Nara, “but it’s a definite possibility.”

“I’ll say!” cried Jack.  “I’m betting that’s how the Syndicate’s been smuggling men out of Euthanasia House and into the Arena facility.”

“It makes sense, Jack,” said Sam.  “When the Syndicate dug out the Arena chambers, they must have found a tunnel that connected to a different part of the Founders’ original bunker system – a part that is now within Government House.  I’m sure the tunnel exit would have been blocked off, but the Syndicate must have secretly re-opened it.  We know they have quite a few people on the take inside Government House.”

“You’re right, Sam,” said Nara.  “That does make sense.  If the Syndicate or anyone else tried to actually _dig_ a tunnel into Government House, the vibrations would be noticed.  But since the tunnel has been there all along....”  Nara’s eyes widened.  “Wow!  A back door into Government House!”

Jack grinned.  “You know,” he said, “I’m a firm believer that whatever can go wrong, will.  But, every once in a while, things go right.”  His grin widened, and took on a feral edge.


	18. Can’t Believe We’re Finally Ready

Daniel leaned his head back and closed his eyes to block out the hovering holographic text.  He needed a break from the Book of Ashora.

He was once again using the computer in Nara’s quarters to do research on Ashoran culture, since he remained unable to contribute much to the escape plan.  Sam and Ifefal had succeeded in deactivating Jack’s Collar, but they couldn’t yet do the same for Lagash or himself because their Collars were plugged in to the Official System.  So Daniel was still confined to Ashasti’s estate.  He hated that!  Even if it was true that Jack didn’t have much freedom of movement, either.  Jack had to spend most of his time hiding at the safe house, but he’d been able to come to Ashasti’s estate for the big meeting….

_It was wonderful to see Jack’s face again.  Especially wearing that lopsided smile.  “Good to see you, Daniel,” he said.  They were everyday words, spoken in an almost-ordinary tone, but Jack’s dark eyes shone with the most extraordinary warmth._

_When Jack stepped forward and gave him an awkward embrace, Daniel’s eyes began to sting.  “Good to see you, too, Jack,” he managed to say._

Without opening his eyes, Daniel brought his mug of _zifwa_ to his mouth and took a sip.  There was no coffee on Ashora.  The closest alternative was this orange herbal tea.  It didn’t taste like coffee, but at least it packed an equivalent caffeine punch.

He’d been on Ashora long enough to start getting used to the taste of _zifwa_.  What he couldn’t get used to was the enforced idleness, the sense that he was just waiting around while the other members of their little group prepared the great escape from Ashora.  That was tremendously frustrating.  And it gave him way too much time to think about the emotional rifts that had opened up in his life.

Being confined to Ashasti’s estate wouldn’t be so bad if he could feel he was making an intellectual contribution to the escape plan, but his particular expertise and perspective hadn’t been very relevant so far.  _Except_ at that near-disastrous group meeting.  His perspective had definitely been needed then, no matter what Jack thought.

_As the meeting broke  up, Daniel kept an eye on Jack, waiting for the opportunity to snatch a private word.  Finally, he saw his opening.  He approached Jack and spoke softly.  “Jack, if the Ashorans had withdrawn their support, our plan for getting off this planet would have bitten the dust.  You do realize that, don’t you?”_

_“Yes, Daniel.  I realize.”  Jack’s voice lacked expression.  His eyes were as opaque and uncommunicative as lumps of coal.  After half a beat, Jack turned away._

_It felt like having a door slammed in his face._

Daniel’s hand tightened on the handle of his mug as he took an angry swallow of _zifwa_.  _The hell with Jack,_ he thought.  _He’s being a prick._

Daniel was absolutely sure he’d done the right thing.  Not only in terms of their effort to escape from Ashora, but also for Jack, on a personal level.  Jack might not appreciate that, but it was true.  So he refused to allow Jack’s cold shoulder routine to make him doubt or regret his actions!

Daniel’s anger dissipated as he remembered what Jack had been through on this planet.  Being Jack, he’d said next to nothing about his experiences at the Arena.  But given his temperament, and the fact the Arena was run by criminals, it was certain he’d been tortured.  And given Ashoran attitudes toward the sexual exploitation of men, it was certain he’d been raped, too.  Tough though he was, Daniel wasn’t sure Jack was equipped to cope with that.  Rape was such a horribly personal form of assault, and not the kind of thing a man like Jack would ever have expected to face.  So was it any wonder he was being difficult?

With a sigh, Daniel set down his mug and returned his attention to the Book of Ashora.  Yes, there it was:  “A woman’s love is not diminished by being given to more than one male, for women are the conduits of the Goddess’s love; therefore, a woman’s love is potentially boundless.  The Redeemed male acknowledges this truth, and so is freed from the curse of egoistic male jealousy.”  The notorious lines were embedded in a long passage about male “corruption.”  Males became corrupt when they failed to recognize that the Goddess was the center of the universe, and that women were Her natural representatives.  The “corrupt” male suffered from the sinful delusion that _he_ was the center of the universe.  Sexual jealousy in males was a sign of the “corrupt” male’s desire to own and control women; which, of course, was symptomatic of an underlying desire to control everyone and everything.  When his attempt to control women and the rest of the universe failed – as it inevitably would – the “corrupt” male turned to violence.  In the end, he would choose to destroy what he could not control.

_Holy cow,_ thought Daniel.  _Or should that be holy bull?_   To be sure, there were some valid spiritual insights mixed in with all the sexism and off-kilter conclusions.  That was typical of the Book of Ashora.  The part about how overweening pride led to sin was certainly taught by other spiritual traditions, including Christianity.  But had the Founders really believed that only _men_ were subject to such temptations?  And the way that passage gave women permission to take multiple lovers, while simultaneously denying men permission to even _feel_ any objection – that was awfully convenient, wasn’t it?  If you were a woman.

In patriarchal societies, the existence of polygamy or some other kind of sexual double standard was a symptom of the inferior status of women.  It was obvious that on Ashora, the reverse was true.

Daniel sighed.  He’d never been able to understand why the concept of equal rights for everyone should be so difficult to grasp, but the record of history indicated that it was.  In many cultures, men had taken advantage of women’s biological vulnerabilities to trample on their rights.  Here on Ashora, women had used advanced technology to trample on men’s rights instead.  But could anyone really believe that was any better?

Daniel was trying to understand the mindset of the Founders.  Had they really been the kind of fanatics who would betray their world to the Goa’uld for being “impure,” as Nara suspected?  They were certainly fanatical when it came to the “proper” relationship between men and women.  But the Book of Ashora kept emphasizing that the _reason_ men had to submit to women was to prevent violence.  Men could not be trusted to participate in Government, or perform any job that might require the use of force – like the military or police – because they inevitably became “corrupted” and turned destructive.  If the Founders had hated violence, how could they have been willing to bring about the annihilation of their home world of Keftu?

What really gave Daniel pause was the kind of Government the Founders had established.  Aside from the huge caveat that men were excluded from the political process, Ashora was essentially a liberal democracy.  It seemed to Daniel that if the Founders had been the sort of people who were willing to destroy a whole world for not being “good” enough, they would have set up a much more authoritarian Government on Ashora, because there _did_ seem to be a link between the need to control and the willingness to destroy.

But it was so hard to understand how fanatics thought, or anticipate what they might be willing to do.  Well, _those_ sorts of fanatics, anyway.  Daniel was aware some people would say he could be a little fanatical himself, a times.

Daniel’s ponderings were interrupted by a double-tap behind him.  He swiveled his chair around to find Nara at the door.  She gave him a tentative smile, and he gave her a brief smile in return.

His estrangement from Nara was the other painful rift in his life right now.  It was the reason he hadn’t been sleeping well even before his troubles with Jack.  Ever since their confrontation the day of Jack’s rescue, he and Nara had been walking on eggshells around one another.  They barely spoke.

“I have some news,” said Nara.  “I thought you’d like to know that I just purchased twelve more stun-guns.  So now we have all forty!”  Nara had been using her underground connections and Ashasti’s money to acquire stun-guns on the Black Market, but they hadn’t been easy to find.

“Fantastic!” cried Daniel.  “Now we have everything we need!”  He took a deep breath.  “I can’t believe we’re finally ready for our great escape.”  He was elated.  And yet, as he looked into Nara’s lovely face, he also felt a deep pang at the thought of saying goodbye forever.  Though any relationship between them seemed doomed by Nara’s inability to overcome her cultural conditioning, letting go of his love for her was easier said than done.

“Sam still has to add manual interfaces to the last batch of stun-guns,” Nara reminded him.  “That might take another day or two.”  All Ashoran weapons were designed to be operated through a woman’s neural implants, so all the stun-guns and three of the military-grade guns had to be altered to make it possible for the weapons to be used by men.

Daniel sighed.  One more delay.  But at least the escape plan was on track.  For a while there, it had looked as if their little group of conspirators wasn’t going to hold together…

*****

“ _No_ ,” barked Jack.  “I’m not promising any such thing.”  His dark eyes bored into Ashasti’s, backed by the full force of his personality.

Ashasti flinched a little, and Daniel winced.  He could just imagine how Jack must be coming across to Ashasti and the other Ashorans.  At this moment, Jack was the perfect embodiment of the “aggressive male,” the bogey-man of Ashoran culture.

Sure enough, Daniel watched Ashasti’s expression harden.  She squared her shoulders and said, “Then I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you, after all.  I will _not_ be a party to murder.”  Neralo put his arm around Ashasti’s shoulders and gave Jack a hostile glare.

“And I won’t, either,” said Nara.  “I know you’ve been treated badly, but it doesn’t give you the right to kill.”

“Who are you to say?” snapped Jack.  “ _You_ aren’t the one who’s been forced to sample Ashoran hospitality.  _You_ haven’t been enslaved, or had your memory stolen.  We have a perfect right to use force to free ourselves from this shit-hole planet.”

_Tactful as ever,_ thought Daniel.

“But that doesn’t mean you have to kill anyone!” insisted Nara.

“Yes,” agreed Ashasti.  “Why can’t you promise that you’ll only stun your opponents?  What need is there to kill?”

Jack looked close to truly losing his temper, which almost never happened.  But then, Jack didn’t seem quite himself.  His emotions were closer to the surface than normal.  With an obvious effort, Jack mastered his anger enough to speak in a reasonable, though cutting, tone.  “Tell you what,” he said.  “If _you’re_ ever in the position of having to fight your way out through the _center of Government_ of the world that’s enslaved and tortured you, and you decide to make it a rule to not kill anybody no matter what, be my guest.  But until it’s _your_ friends’ lives on the line, don’t presume to lecture me.  Because you can be damn sure that _your Government_ won’t hesitate to kill _us_.”

“He’s right,” said Sam, her voice cold.  “This isn’t a game.  The Ashoran Government has already tried to kill Jack once.”

A tense silence settled over Ashasti’s office, where all eight members of their little counter-conspiracy had gathered together for the first time.  The meeting had begun as a joyous reunion between Jack and himself, and a chance for the people who hadn’t met before to get acquainted.  Then the planning session had started, with Jack and Sam standing on either side of a holographic projection, taking turns explaining the tactical and technical aspects of their escape plan.  But when Jack had begun talking about “taking out” the Trainers at the Arena facility, Ashasti had asked what he meant by that.  Things had gone downhill from there.

_I should have seen this coming,_ thought Daniel.  It was to be expected that the Ashoran members of their group wouldn’t want to see anybody get hurt.  The aversion to violence in this culture wasn’t entirely disingenuous.  The Ashorans found Jack’s vengeful streak deeply disturbing.  As well they should.  Revenge had never righted a single wrong.  Sometimes, Jack needed to be protected from his own darker impulses.

Daniel saw that Ashasti, Nara, and Neralo had lined up against Jack and Sam.  The two groups were staring at one another with set expressions.  Meanwhile, over in the corner, Ifefal and Lagash were watching the argument warily.  Since they wanted to leave Ashora, too, they had a bigger stake in the success of the escape attempt.  But Daniel suspected they were about to jump in with their own reservations about the use of force.  After all, they were Ashorans, too.  Well, Ifefal really wasn’t, but she had no conscious memory of her previous life.

Poor Ifefal.  She looked downright scared.  Considering what Sam had told him about the terrible memories buried in her subconscious, Daniel guessed that the tension in the room was triggering some very unpleasant feelings for her.

Daniel decided it was time to intervene. “Wait a minute,” he said, speaking as soothingly as he could, “I think we’re much closer to agreement than you realize.”

Jack turned a freezing stare on him that made his stomach feel cold.  He’d been prepared for Jack to start threatening to tear him a new one if he chimed in with the Ashorans, but this felt worse than their usual head-butting.  There was a chilling intensity in his eyes that Daniel had never seen before – at least, not directed at _him_.  He began to suspect that crossing Jack on this one might truly imperil their friendship.

Daniel’s jaw clenched.  Turning toward Ashasti, Nara, and Neralo, he said, “The trouble here is that none of you have any combat experience, so it’s hard for you to imagine what’s involved.  Jack isn’t saying that he _wants_ to kill anyone.”  Daniel caught Jack’s eyes, willing him not to disagree.  “What Jack _means_ ,” he continued quickly, “is that, in combat, you never know what will happen, so you can’t limit your options.  Even though we’ll be armed with stun-guns, there’s always a possibility we might have to resort to lethal force in self-defense.”  Jack opened his mouth to say God-only-knew-what, but Sam placed a restraining hand on his arm and, miraculously, he desisted.

“Ashasti,” Daniel continued, “I know you might not be willing to kill even to save your own life, but would you really demand the same from us?”

“No,” said Ashasti, sounding subdued.

“Killing in self-defense would be justified,” put in Nara.  “But,” she added, looking at Jack, “I got the definite impression _he_ wants revenge, which is something else altogether.  I agree that the criminals at the Arena deserve to be punished.  But to kill them for the sake of revenge would be wrong!”

“It’s not about revenge,” said Jack, his tone light.  “It’s about making the universe a better place.”

The Ashorans looked taken aback.  _You’re not helping,_ thought Daniel.

“I give my word,” Daniel loudly declared, “that I won’t use lethal force except to defend the lives of my teammates and myself.  Jack, Sam – would you be willing to do the same?”  Daniel caught Jack’s eyes again, silently pleading with him to be reasonable.  But Jack’s eyes were as cold and hard as obsidian.

Then Sam’s hand slid down to grip Jack’s.  He turned and looked into her face for a moment.  When he looked away, his expression had softened.  His gaze began to drift over the people seated around him – until it fell on Ifefal.  Ifefal was a petite young woman with an innocent face and waif-like figure.  Sam said she was twenty-five, but she looked younger.  At the moment, huddled against Lagash with wide eyes, she looked about twelve.  She looked like a scared little girl.  And the focus of her fear seemed to be Jack.

Jack’s gaze flicked downward, his lashes shielding whatever was in his eyes.  Then he looked up at Ashasti.  “All right,” he said.  “I give you my word I won’t kill any women except in defense of our team.”

“And I promise the same,” said Sam.

_Wait a minute_ , thought Daniel, _why did Jack say “women” instead of “people?”  Is he trying to pull something?_ But when Daniel looked around, he saw that the Ashorans seemed satisfied.  So he said nothing more.

*****

Nara continued to stand at the door, eyes fixed on Daniel.  She shifting nervously from one foot to the other and opened her mouth as if to speak, but then closed it again and looked away.

Daniel raised his eyebrows and waited.  It wasn’t like Nara to be hesitant.

Finally she looked at him and blurted, “Daniel, I want to go with you.”

Daniel was stunned.  “With me?  You mean – to Earth?”

“Yes, of course to Earth.  Was there some other planet you were planning to run off to?”  Nara stalked over and sat down across from him, fingers clenched on the arms of her chair.

Daniel was afraid to believe what she seemed to be saying. “You mean… you’d be willing to move to another planet just to be with me?”

Nara laughed shrilly.  “Me, an Ashoran woman, give up my whole world for a mere male?  That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?”

Daniel felt a spurt of anger.  He was tired of having his heart yanked around.  “So then why _do_ you want to go to Earth?” he asked brusquely.

Nara’s hysterical amusement crumbled suddenly into anguish.  “Oh, Daniel!” she cried, her voice unsteady.  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded!  It’s just I’ve been agonizing about this for days, going crazy trying to decide what to do, and then going more crazy trying to decide how to explain it to you.  I was so afraid it wouldn’t come out right.”  She gave a little gasping laugh.  “And, obviously, I was right to be afraid!  I’m making such a mess of this.”  Nara took a deep breath.  “The problem is, I don’t want you to feel that if I left Ashora, that would place an obligation on you.  I don’t want whatever might happen between us to have that kind of pressure on it.  I’m not making this decision _only_ because of what I feel for you.  But that doesn’t mean you’re not important to me.  You’re _very_ important.”  She gave him a tremulous smile and said, “I love you, you know.”

Daniel tried to clamp down on his reaction to her words, but it was no use.  It felt as if his spirit had decided to escape his body by shooting out through the top of his head, blowing his skull to smithereens in the process.

“I love you, too, Nara,” he said.  He suddenly felt wonderful  He didn’t miss his brain one bit.

“Oh, Daniel!” she cried.  “Do you?  Even after the way I’ve screwed everything up?”

Daniel went and knelt on the floor at Nara’s feet.  He didn’t care if this position fulfilled Ashoran stereotypes.  He only wanted to be closer to her.  “No one can escape the influence of their culture.  I should have been more understanding.”

“No, Daniel.  You had good reason to be upset.  I couldn’t even touch you.”  Suddenly setting her jaw in determination, she reached down and captured his hands in hers.  Daniel felt another rush of giddy happiness.  He smiled joyfully into her green eyes, and she smiled back.

“There,” she said.  “See?  I _can_ get better.”  She frowned.  “Though I have to admit, it feels a lot easier now that I know Ashasti’s attitudes have changed.”  She abruptly slid off her chair to sit beside him on the floor.  “For years, I’ve devoted myself to the idea of a more gender-equal society.  I’ve dreamed I could help create the conditions for a more genuinely loving relationship between women and men on Ashora.”  She gave him a wry smile.  “I thought of myself as much more enlightened and liberated than other Ashorans.  But the way I ended up behaving with you forced me realize I’ve been kidding myself.  You asked me how I could treat you as nothing more than another woman’s property.  Well, I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

Daniel shook his head.  “I know that’s not the way you really feel, Nara.”

“No, you were right!  That’s exactly how I treated you!  I don’t believe in chattel-concubines, yet I couldn’t bring myself to violate the rules about them.  How stupid is that?”

“It’s not stupid at all.  All of us have certain reactions and behaviors ingrained in us as we grow up.  They become almost instinctive.  Many people find it very difficult to truly lose them, even after they’ve rejected the underlying ideas.  But if you’re determined, you can do it.”

Some of the tension that had been in Nara’s shoulders finally began to ease.  “Thanks, Daniel.  That makes me feel better.”

Daniel looked down at their clasped hands, amazed and gratified by the sight of her slim white fingers entwined with his.  But the elation he’d felt was fading.  His brain was back online, remorselessly reminding him of certain facts.  “You’ve made me feel a whole lot better too, Nara.  I can’t tell you how much this moment means to me.  But as much as I hate the thought of being separated from you, I also love you too much not to point out the problems.  First of all, there’s no certainty we’ll make it to Earth.  Our escape attempt might fail, and you might end up dead or in prison.  Second, Earth is much less technologically advanced than Ashora.  I suspect you’d find the living conditions pretty primitive.  And, frankly, it’s not so long ago that my society _was_ patriarchal, in many respects.  There are plenty of lingering patriarchal attitudes, which I think you’d find quite unpleasant.  Thirdly, if you come with us to Earth, you’ll probably never be able to go back to Ashora.  Have you really thought about how that would feel?”

Nara’s green eyes flashed.  “I believe you’re displaying some of those lingering patriarchal attitudes you mentioned, Daniel.  Do you really think I haven’t already considered all that?  Or is it that you don’t think I have a right to decide for myself what risks I’m willing to take?”

Daniel found himself smiling in amused admiration.  “Okay,” he said.  “Point taken.”  His smile faded.  “But the truth is, I do feel responsible for your interest in leaving Ashora, so I would hate to think you’re making a mistake.  As much as I want to have you with me, I would never want to keep you from fulfilling your true destiny.  And if you go to Earth, you lose the opportunity to make things better here on Ashora.  Are you sure that isn’t what you’re meant to do?”

She gave him a pained smile.  “Don’t you see, Daniel?  How can I free the minds of others when I can’t even free my own?”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

“It’s kind of you to say that.  But the truth is, though I’ve rejected the way of life I was raised with, I don’t seem quite able to go on to the next stage.  I’m stuck in some kind of limbo.  That’s why I’ve decided I want to leave Ashora and start over on Earth.  I want to see how it feels to live in a world where men and women are treated as equals.  I want to escape from limbo.”  She gave him a mischievous smile.  “So don’t think I’m doing this only to be with you.  Because that would just be your male ego talking.”

Then Nara looked down at their clasped hands, her expression turning poignant.  Freeing one hand from Daniel’s, Nara began to pull at a pink dangle on her data wristlet.  “Then again,” she said, “I would very much like for our relationship to escape from limbo, too.”

Daniel watched her fiddling with the pink dangle and realized he’d seen her do that before – usually when things became intense between them.  “What _is_ that?” he asked sharply.

Nara gave him a questioning look.

“That pink dangle on your data-wristlet.  That has some significance, doesn’t it?”

A bright flush began to spread through Nara’s fair complexion.  Looking down again, she muttered, “That’s just my Night Pendant.”

“I see,” said Daniel.  “Well… uh, actually, I’m not quite sure I do.  I _have_ run across that term in my studies, but as something that Ashoran women use when they’re courting Sons of Ashora.  As I understand it, the Night Pendant gives temporary control over a Son of Ashora’s Golden Collar.  Provided that both the Son of Ashora and his Guardian consent, right?”

“Yes,” said Nara.  “But Night Pendants aren’t used only for Sons of Ashora.  If a woman is attracted to a chattel-male, but she isn’t his Keeper, she uses her Night Pendant to gain temporary control of his Collar so she can have sex with him.  Of course, she has to get permission from his Keeper.  The Night Pendant won’t work otherwise.”  Nara pressed her lips together for a moment, and then quickly added, “No Ashoran woman would have sex with a male unless she controlled his Collar.”

There was a pause.  Then Daniel said, “Are you trying to tell me that part of the reason you wouldn’t get involved with me is because you don’t control my Collar?”

Nara gave him a chagrined look and nodded.  “I’m sorry, Daniel.  It’s just one of those gut reactions you were talking about.  Actually, that’s even more basic than the taboo about concubines.”  Nara hugged herself and looked at him.  “I want to be perfectly honest with you, Daniel, so you understand what you’re dealing with.  I definitely want to have sex with you.  I’ve been wanting that for a long time.  But the idea of having sex with a man when I don’t control his Collar… well, to tell you the truth, it scares me.  And on Earth, you won’t even be wearing a Collar.”

Daniel was taken aback.  She was looking into his eyes steadily, but he thought he did see fear there.  He suddenly grasped just how big a step it was for Nara to be willing to leave Ashora and go to a world that was not controlled by women.  After all, Ashoran culture was based on the belief that any such world would be one in which men behaved in cruel and violent ways and used their superior physical strength to oppress women.  That was what Nara had been taught all her life.  Was it any wonder she was scared?

He squeezed Nara’s hands.  “It’s okay, Nara.  We can make this work.  Strange as it may seem to you, billions of couples make it work all over the galaxy.  A great many men in a great many different cultures treat women with love and respect.”  He smiled.  “It doesn’t _necessarily_ require a Collar.”

Nara smiled back, but then looked down quickly.  And Daniel suddenly felt he could read her mind:  _But aren’t there an awful lot of men who don’t?_

And it was true.  A great many women in a great many different cultures were brutalized or even killed by the men who were supposed to be closest to them – their sexual partners.  Even in his own society, it was a statistical fact that a woman’s most likely murderer was her husband or boyfriend.  It was sobering to realize that Nara’s fear wasn’t entirely unreasonable.

Daniel had a sudden idea.  Looking into Nara’s eyes, he said, “If you had control over my Collar, then we could be together without it being scary for you.  Right?  And wouldn’t Ashasti be willing to let you attach your Night Pendant to my Collar?”

Nara’s mouth dropped open.  “Goddess!  I suppose she would, now that her views have changed.  That would be fantastic!  But… if you wore my Night Pendant, I’d have full control over your Collar.  Would you really be willing to give me that kind of power over you?”

“Yes, I would.  Because I trust you, Nara.  I trust that you won’t hurt me or force me to do things I don’t want to do.  And I figure it’s only fair.  Because for us to be together on Earth, _you’ll_ have to give _me_ that same level of trust.”

Daniel touched the Night Pendant dangling from Nara’s data-wristlet, playfully stroking it with his forefinger.  Smiling slowly into Nara’s eyes, he said, “So, tell me – how do I get this on?”


	19. The Whole Revenge Thing

Jack watched Sam work.  He had always loved the look that came over her face when she was absorbed in one of her projects.  It was the kind of fascinated concentration you usually saw only in a small child studying a seashell, or a feather, or a bug crawling up a blade of grass.

Sam’s profile was sharply defined, in contrast to the slightly blurred and color-drained appearance of everything around her.  That was because their personal cloaks were all tuned to the same phase-shift frequency, or something like that.  The matched-tuning thing enabled the team to see and hear each other with perfect clarity, even though they were invisible and inaudible to un-shifted people.  Sam had explained it all using lots of technical terms that Jack couldn’t remember, but he’d enjoyed listening to her say them.  What was it about Sam talking techno-babble that was so damn hot?

Sam put the wand-like tool back in her belt and looked at him.  “It’s ready,” she said.

Jack felt a rush of anticipation, almost like the eagerness for action he used to feel as a young soldier.  But a second later, he was swept by a wave of terrible anxiety.  He was about to risk _losing Sam_.

These feelings were almost immediately replaced by annoyance.  What the hell was wrong with him?  He couldn’t afford to keep wobbling emotionally like some green recruit.

Turning to Nara, he asked, “Sure you’ve got their security system taken care of?”

Nara was standing near Sam, next to a thick pillar.  The patch of wall behind the pillar looked just like the rest of the wall in this corridor of the Pleasant Boulevard Underground Garage, but it was actually one of the entrances to the Syndicate’s Arena facility.  Glancing at the holographic readout that hovered over her data-wristlet, Nara said, “I’ve hacked into the outer layer of the Arena’s security.  I can keep the people inside from being alerted when we start opening doors.  But, as I told you before, I won’t be able to block all their communications until we get into the control room.”

“Good enough,” said Jack.

Jack’s eyes swept over his team.  They didn’t look like daring commandos about to take on a world government.  They looked more like contestants in that cross-country bicycle race the French thought was so special.  It was mostly because the personal cloak generators they all wore looked like fancy bicycle helmets, but their clothes fit the theme, too.  All the women had sleek, black outfits with strange insignia, sort of like the logo-laden sports attire you might see on a bicycle racer.  (Their outfits were actually Ashoran Defense Force uniforms, which Sam had stolen in the hope of creating useful confusion later.)  But it was the men who most looked the part.  They wore tight-fitting athletic clothes, including what could only be described as bicycle shorts.  It was the most practical men’s clothing that could be found on Ashora.  Even if it did expose his knobby, surgically scarred knees.

“You all know the plan,” Jack said to his team.  “Lagash, Ifefal, Nara – stay alert.  Be prepared to use your guns if necessary, but let me and Sam and Daniel take the lead if we get into a combat situation.  Remember, if you discharge your weapon, that’ll give away your position despite the cloak.  So if you have to fire, _move_.”

Jack drew his altered military-grade gun.  The original, neural-implant-controlled version of the weapon had a handgrip and a bulb-tipped “barrel,” but was otherwise featureless, so it looked like something created by a lazy prop designer for a low-budget science fiction movie.  Sam had added manual controls to the men’s guns:  a trigger for shooting, and a sliding switch for selecting the operating mode.  Like a zat, the gun could stun, kill, or disintegrate.

“Make sure your weapons are set to stun,” said Nara.

“Nara,” said Jack, his voice deceptively mild, “remember that concept we discussed earlier?  Called chain of command?  For all our sakes – especially yours – don’t forget it again.”

Nara frowned, but seemed to accept the reprimand.  It was Daniel who tensed up in a way Jack didn’t like.  _Come on, Daniel,_ thought Jack.  _Suck it up.  A new girlfriend is no excuse for forgetting everything you ever learned about military discipline.  Oh, wait, I almost forgot – you’ve never learned a thing._

Jack gave Daniel a brief, freezing stare before dismissively turning his attention back to the group.  “Everybody ready?” he asked.  They all nodded.  He was confident that Sam really was, and he was willing to give Daniel the benefit of the doubt.  However, Nara looked a bit too aggressively determined, while Lagash seemed nervous, and Ifefal was wearing a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression.  He had to remember at all times that half his team had no military training whatsoever.  _Ready as they’ll ever be,_ he thought.

His eyes caught Sam’s.  She lifted her arm and held her data-wristlet next to a certain spot on the wall for a moment.  Then she nodded to him.  The wall looked exactly the same as before, but he knew the holographic camouflage would have kicked in as soon as the door started opening.

Jack walked straight through the wall, and into the antechamber where the Syndicate collected money before letting in customers.  As expected, it was empty.  They were attacking late at night, when activity within the Arena facility would be at a minimum.  Jack hoped to free the Arena slaves quickly, and move on to Government House before the day shift came in.

“All clear,” Jack called.

Once everyone was in the antechamber, Sam closed the outer door.  She then took out her electronic wand and began sweeping it over the walls.  Nara was already doing the same.  The main door into the Arena was visible, but they knew there was a second door that led to the “back stage” areas.

The walls flickered, and the outline of another door appeared.  “Good work, Nara,” said Sam.  “That must be the one we want.”

But then the walls flickered again.  For a moment, three-dimensional images of naked, painted men were visible.  One gleamed and sparkled in gold.  And Jack noticed Daniel staring at the golden man incredulously before the images flickered out again.

“What the fuck was that?” Jack snapped, annoyed at the heat flooding into his face.

“Sorry,” said Nara.  “Guess I triggered the advertising display.  But don’t worry, I’m certain the Trainers didn’t noticed anything.  I’m controlling the signal traffic from this room, and I have all the cameras and monitors on a loop.”

Jack’s embarrassment turned to icy anger as he remembered the Arena slaves’ vulnerability.  Until they deactivated the men’s Collars, the Trainers could kill them with a thought.  “You better be right about that.”

“She already told you she’s _certain_ , Jack,” interjected Daniel.

Jack’s gaze met Daniel’s with an almost audible clash.

Sam said, “Nara’s right.  I’m not picking up any alerts.  And I’m ready to open this door, Jack.”  She spoke in an especially calm tone and gave him a steady, cobalt stare.

Jack took the hint.  “Okay,” he said.  “I’ll take point.  Sam, you’re right behind me.  Then Nara, Ifefal, and Lagash.  Daniel, guard our six.”

They went through the door, down some stairs, and through another door.  This brought them into a wide, gently curved hallway that Jack recognized as the one encircling the lower level of the Arena.  They moved quickly down the deserted hallway, and soon reached the other side of the Arena.  Jack stopped and held up his fist – and then felt silly.  Since their conversations were cloaked, hand signals were unnecessary.  “There it is,” he said, pointing to a door.  “That’s the entrance to the control room.”

They needed to open the control room door, and then immediately stun the two Trainers inside.  If the control room Trainers alerted any of the other Trainers, the Arena slaves would be dead before Jack’s team could deactivate their Collars.

Sam and Nara positioned themselves on either side of the door.  They pulled some high-tech gizmos out of their backpacks and set to work.

As Jack watched Sam work, he reflected that it felt strange to be here again – but not unpleasant.  Because this time, he wasn’t wearing a Collar.  This time, he was armed.  Not only with a fancy Ashoran ray gun, but also with his good old P90.  It lay against his chest, it’s weight reassuringly familiar, because Sam had retrieved it from the Patriarchal Technology Collection.  For him.  It hadn’t been truly necessary, considering they had the Ashoran weapons, but Sam had surprised him with it.  He smiled a little, once again touched by her thoughtfulness.  For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine snuggling the P90 under his chin and shooting Umala right between the eyes…

“They work well together,” came Daniel’s voice.  “It’s lucky for us that Nara decided to come.”

Without looking at Daniel, Jack said, “You mean it’s lucky for _you_.  Sam’s always managed the tech stuff pretty damn well on her own.”

“Sam’s a genius, of course.  But Nara’s skills at hacking into Ashoran computer systems are going to be extremely valuable.”

Jack said nothing.  He was still annoyed with Daniel over the whole revenge thing.  Which was _not_ a revenge thing.  Not really.  It was about justice, but it went beyond justice, even.  It was more practical than that.  Though Jack had used a sarcastic tone when he’d said it was about making the universe a better place, he’d basically meant it.  Because some people were just _bad_.  And life was hard enough without some asshole deliberately _trying_ to make it harder.  So if you could improve the picture a little by taking a few bad guys out of it – well, that was the thing to do.  And taking out bad guys seemed to be his particular calling in life.

Most of the time, Jack believed that absolutely.  But, sometimes, a small voice inside him raised doubts.  This treasonous little voice wondered if all the violence and killing could really improve anything in the end.  It whispered that maybe he’d become one of the bad guys himself.  Or, if he hadn’t yet, maybe he would.  Maybe the next moral compromise would be the one that tipped him over to the Dark Side.

A lot of the time, Daniel sounded exactly like Jack’s little voice.  Which was what made Daniel so _extremely_ annoying.

“Having both Sam and Nara on our team is going to be especially important when we get into Government House,” Daniel droned on.  “When we enter the Labyrinth, I mean.  That’s quite literally what Government House is, because the word ‘labyrinth’ comes from the ancient Greek myth of Theseus and the Minotaur.”

“Daniel,” said Jack.  “Mythology?  Now?”

“Why must you always discount the importance of myth?” exclaimed Daniel.  Jack still refused to look at him, but in his mind’s eye, he could see Daniel’s face perfectly.  He would be wearing that deceptively mild expression, the one he used to gull strangers into believing he was harmless.  But those who knew Daniel had learned to notice the subtly maniacal glint in those blue eyes.

“The myth of Theseus and the Minotaur is absolutely pertinent to our situation,” continued Daniel.  Of course.  When he got into obsessive mode, he was unstoppable.  “The Minotaur was a monster with the body of a man and the head of a bull.  King Minos, the ruler of Crete, kept the Minotaur inside a great maze called the Labyrinth.  King Minos would sacrifice youths and maidens by sending them into the Labyrinth.  They would become lost and wander hopelessly, unable to escape, until the Minotaur caught and ate them.  But, one day, the Athenian hero Theseus went into the Labyrinth with a sword.  He killed the Minotaur, and then escaped the Labyrinth using a ball of string he had been given by Ariadne, daughter of Minos.  Theseus unrolled the ball on his way in, and then followed the string to get back out.”

“Are you suggesting we should have packed some string?”  Somehow, Jack found himself making eye contact with Daniel.  “We’ve been over this, remember?  We know how to find our way around inside Government House.”

“I’m not talking about that!  I’m just pointing out the connections between the myth and situation in which we find ourselves.  It’s a Greek myth, but it contains folk memories of the Minoan culture of Crete, which predates Greek civilization.  The Minoans were the ones who taught the Greeks how to be civilized.  And from archeological excavations, we know that the Minoans built sprawling, labyrinthine ‘palaces,’ which seem to have combined political, economic, and religious functions.  The Labyrinth in the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur is believed to be a folk memory of those maze-like government buildings.  And Ashora Government House is obviously a direct descendent of those same Ancient Minoan buildings.  Which means that, in a very real sense, Government House _is_ the mythical Labyrinth!”

“Okay,” said Jack.  “So?”

“In a certain sense, we’re about to participate in one of the founding myths of Western civilization!” cried Daniel.

“So?” repeated Jack.  As Daniel’s face scrunched up in exasperation, Jack found himself enjoying the conversation.

“That was a very strange story,” broke in Ifefal.  She and Lagash had been listening to Daniel’s exposition with puzzled expressions – as well they should.  “Why would King Minos sacrifice youths and maidens?  And how come he was a king instead of a queen?”

“And why was the Minotaur a monster?” added Lagash.  “A man with the head of a bull sounds like an Initiator.  For certain rituals, we wear a mask shaped like a bull’s head.”

“Fascinating!” cried Daniel.  “As I said, Theseus and the Minotaur is a _Greek_ myth.  The Greeks undoubtedly twisted certain aspects of the earlier Minoan culture.  Greek culture was very patriarchal – unlike that of the Minoans.”

But it was clear Ifefal was no longer listening to Daniel.  She had gasped when Lagash used the word “we” in reference to the Initiators – the virgin-deflowering male members of the Ashoran priesthood.  And, to Jack’s extreme irritation, Sam had looked up from her work long enough to give Lagash a significant glance.

“Lagash!” exclaimed Ifefal.  “You mean _you_ were an Initiator?  You never told me!”

“I didn’t want to brag,” said Lagash.

“I should have _guessed_ ,” simpered Ifefal.

“You know,” said Jack, “back on Earth, we have this underground facility called the SGC.  It has lots of corridors.  People tend to get lost, so we have these colored lines on the floor to help them find their way.  Painted strings, you might say.  Must be another example of the importance of mythology.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, no doubt to launch into another useless lecture, but at that moment Sam said, “Okay.  We’re ready.”

_Thank God,_ thought Jack.

Stepping up to the door and drawing his gun, he said, “Sam, you take the Trainer on the right.  I’ll take the one on the left.  Nara, open the door on my mark.  Everybody ready?”

Sam drew her gun and nodded.  Nara held her data-wristlet next to the wall and nodded.

“Now,” said Jack.

The door slid open.  Two women turned startled faces toward them, but didn’t see anything, of course.  From the Trainers’ perspective, it would appear that the door had opened by itself.

Jack and Sam gave them no more than a split-second to wonder about it.  Near-simultaneous bolts shot out from their guns, each striking one of the Trainers.  The Trainers’ bodies jerked as they were wreathed in blue lightning.  One fell limply out of her chair, while the other slumped back into hers.

Jack was pleased to see that both Trainers belonged to Elal’s Wrestling operation.  The most sadistic Trainers were the ones under Umala.

They entered the control room, which was lined with electronic consoles.  Above the consoles were rows of holographic “windows” that showed various parts of the Arena facility.  Sam and Nara got to work on the electronics, with help from Lagash.  Daniel and Ifefal removed and destroyed the Trainers’ data-wristlets, and then tied them up.  Jack looked through the surveillance views of the Arena facility.  He saw no women in any of them.  So, they could assume the rest of the Trainers were in their quarters, as expected.  There was no surveillance from inside the Trainers’ quarters.  He studied the views of the Big Room.

“I count twelve men missing from the Big Room,” Jack said, “including Buddy.”  He grimaced.  “They’ll be in the Trainers’ quarters.”

“ _Twelve?_ ” exclaimed Daniel.  “That’s more than we expected.  That’s more than one per Trainer!”

Jack had given the impression there were normally only a few men in the Trainers’ quarters at night.  He hadn’t wanted to give Daniel any time to consider the true logistics of the situation.  “Guess the Trainers must be extra horny tonight,” lied Jack.  “We can handle it.”

“We now have complete control of the Arena facility’s computer systems,” announced Nara.  “I’ve cut off external communications.”

“But that doesn’t include the Trainers’ personal electronics,” reminded Sam.  “If they have their data-wristlets, the Trainers will be able to communicate with the Collars of the men in the Big Room.  And the men in their quarters arewithin range of the Trainers’ bare neural implants.”

“It’s like we expected,” said Jack.  “We can’t deactivate the Collars of the men in the Big Room until we take out _all_ the Trainers, because the multiple ‘death’ alerts would let the Trainers know something’s not right.  We wouldn’t be able to deactivate all the Collars fast enough to keep the Trainers from killing some of the men.”

Jack had already decided Lagash was the best person to cover the control room.  Though the disciplinary circuits in his Golden Collar had been deactivated, the feedback circuits were intact.  That meant he could interface directly with Ashoran computer systems.  The women could do that, too, but _only_ the women could operate the Collar deactivators.

From the control room, Lagash would be able to command all the doors and security systems in the Arena facility, as well as keeping an eye on the monitors.  The phase-shifted radios in their “bicycle helmets” would enable the other team members to stay in touch with him.

Jack led everyone but Lagash out of the control room, toward the Trainers’ quarters.  That required them to pass through the Big Room.  When they opened the door, the few Arena slaves who were awake looked up with wary puzzlement.  Jack was sorely tempted to decloak and let the men know they would soon be free, but it would be safer for them if he didn’t.  So he strode quickly down the center of the Big Room, past the black boxes on their pedestals and the cuffs sticking out of the floor.  Thankfully, no men were actually on the Ropes tonight.  _Never again,_ Jack silently promised the men.  _You’ll never have to go through that again._

They exited the Big Room through the opposite door.  Jack led his group down some corridors, and through several more doors, until they reached an area that was nicely carpeted and painted instead of bare and grey.  He stopped at the intersection of several hallways.

“The Fighting Trainers’ quarters are on that side,” said Jack, pointing to his left.  “All six apartments should be occupied.  The Wrestling Trainers are around that corner.  Since we already snagged two of them in the control room, only two are left.  Ishpia is behind the first door; Elal is three doors down.”

Jack had already calculated how to divvy up assignments so as to carry out the primary mission with maximum speed and efficiency – while also serving his secondary goals.  “Daniel, Nara:  you take the Wrestling side.  And Nara, let Daniel do the shooting.  You just worry about deactivating Collars and taking care of men.”  Nara scowled at him.

“Ifefal, Sam,” he continued, “the three of us will work together.  Sam, since you’re the only person who can deactivate Collars _and_ shoot straight, you don’t need a tactical partner.  Start at the far end of the Fighting Trainers’ quarters.  Ifefal and I will start at the near end and meet you in the middle.

“Remember, it’s imperative not to let any of the Trainers signal any of the others.  If a Trainer realizes something’s wrong, she could kill the men instantly.  These rooms are soundproof, but make sure not to have more than one door open at the same time.  We don’t want any noise to travel.  Ifefal and I will enter first, then Sam, then Daniel and Nara.  _Move out._ ”

The team split up as he had directed.  When Jack ordered Lagash to open the door of the first Trainer’s quarters, there was only dim silence within.  Jack entered the living area and quickly scoped it out before calling Ifefal to join him.  He then entered the bedroom.  Hetrisha was in her bed, with Red Panther beside her.  They were both asleep.

Jack hit Hetrisha with a stun bolt.  “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” he said.

Red Panther didn’t stir as the stun bolt’s energy made Hetrisha’s body jerk beside him.  So long as Hetrisha was unconscious, his Collar would keep Red Panther unconscious as well.

“Okay,” said Jack to Ifefal, “start looking for her data-wristlet.”  They soon found it in a bureau drawer.  Jack put the device on the floor, switched his gun to disintegration mode, and shot it.  It disappeared in a crackling ball of energy.

It was now safe to deactivate Red Panther’s Collar.  Since his Collar was under the direct control of Hetrisha’s bare neural implants, no signal would reach the other Trainers when his Collar went dead.

After they decloaked, Ifefal gave Jack a somewhat nervous glance.  “Go ahead,” he told her, filling his voice with reassurance.

Sam had integrated a Collar deactivator into each woman’s data-wristlet.  Ifefal held up her forearm and studied the readout in the small, silvery plaque that was now affixed to her wristlet.  After about thirty seconds, Ifefal looked at Jack and nodded.

“Red Panther,” called Jack.

Red Panther awoke.  When he caught sight of Jack and Ifefal, he sat up with a start.  Then his eyes went to Jack’s neck, and he gasped, because Jack had insisted that his Collar be removed as well as deactivated.  Ifefal had performed the surgical procedure.

“That’s right,” said Jack.  “No more Collar.”

Red Panther’s gaze darted fearfully toward the unconscious form of Hetrisha.

“Notice how you’re awake even though she’s asleep?” said Jack.  “That’s because we deactivated your Collar.”  Jack pointed to his own bare neck.  “It’s the same as if you weren’t wearing a Collar at all.   _You’re free._ ”

As Jack quickly explained the rest, Red Panther continued to look stunned.  He’d been an Arena slave for at least a year, so Jack realized it might take a little while for his new status to really sink in.

“We have to go on the next room now,” Jack finished.  “The other men won’t be truly safe until we’ve knocked out all the Trainers, so we have to do this as quickly as possible.  Stay here till we come back for you.  If Hetrisha wakes up, make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.  Remember, _you have nothing to fear from her anymore_.”

This was where Jack’s secondary plan turned sticky.  Using his officer’s voice – the one that brooked no argument – he ordered Ifefal to recloak and move out.  He didn’t want to give her any time to think.

But as they left Hetrisha’s quarters, Ifefal seemed oblivious to the possibilities.  And Jack remembered what Sam had told him about the terrible history hidden in Ifefal’s subconscious.  In the end, this fragile-seeming young woman had turned on her brutal, murdering husband and stabbed him to death with a kitchen knife.  It occurred to Jack that maybe Ifefal’s subconscious was perfectly happy to leave Red Panther alone with a now-helpless Hetrisha.

In the hallway, as he and Ifefal moved toward the next door, Sam emerged from her first Trainer’s quarters.  Down the length of the hall, Jack felt Sam’s grimly determined gaze connecting with his own.  Sam had at first been hesitant about his secondary plan, but he’d persuaded her it was the right thing to do.

The operation continued to go smoothly.  Everyone kept finding the Trainers asleep in their beds, which simplified things.  By the time Jack and Ifefal stood in front of their third Trainer’s quarters, Sam had already stunned her third Trainer.  She was still searching for the data-wristlet, however.  That meant Jack couldn’t substitute Sam for Ifefal in the last Trainer’s quarters, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to, anyway.

“You there, Jack?”  That was Daniel’s voice on the phase-shifted radio.

“Yep.  Go ahead.”

“We’ve freed the men in Elal’s quarters,” said Daniel.  “That’s all of them on our side.”  Daniel and Nara had begun by hitting Ishpia’s quarters.  Nara had baby-sat the man they found there while Daniel entered Elal’s quarters and stunned her.  Now, everyone was in Elal’s quarters.

“Is Buddy okay?” asked Jack.

“If you mean the guy with the bronze paint, yeah, he’s fine.  It’s the other guy that’s annoying the hell out of us.  He’s actually _complaining_ about our _intrusion_.”

“That’d be Sweet Ass,” said Jack.  “Leave him tied up in Elal’s rooms along with Elal and Ishpia.  Take everybody else down to the Big Room.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if…”

“ _No,_ Daniel.  I want you and Nara to be standing by in the Big Room.  We’ve only got one Trainer to go.  As soon as we get her, I’ll signal you so Nara can start deactivating Collars in the Big Room.  Got it?”

“Okay, Jack,” said Daniel.

Jack was pleased.  His secondary plan was working better than expected.  He’d thought that even if Ifefal didn’t question his handling of the freed men, Lagash would.  Lagash couldn’t see into the Trainers’ quarters, but he could see the hallway.  However, Lagash hadn’t said a word.  Maybe he was being a good little Son of Ashora and following Ifefal’s lead.

Jack returned his attention to the door of the last Trainer’s quarters.  He told himself it was just another mission.  Just another job that needed doing.

But when they opened the door, cries of agony flew out at them.  Clearly, Umala was awake.

Ifefal looked at him, her child-like face full of distress.  “It’s okay,” Jack told her.  “We’re about to put a stop to that.”  After they entered, Jack told Ifefal to wait in the living room.  He had a pretty good idea what would be going on in the bedroom, and he wanted to spare her.

Jack thought he was ready.  He had shoved his emotions deep into his mental basement.  He had slipped into that cold, focused state of mind that he thought of as “combat mode.”  Over the years, it had become second nature to him.  But when he entered the bedroom and saw Umala, his inner barriers wavered.

There were three men in the room with her:  Bruiser, Squealer, and the man Jack still thought of as the Warrior Guy (though Umala had named him Big Dog).  The Warrior Guy was on his back in Umala’s bed, tied down in a spread-eagled position.  Umala was sitting on his groin, her bloated body moving rhythmically.  Every time she shifted herself downward, the Warrior Guy’s body convulsed and he cried out in pain.  His voice was hoarse from screaming.  Bruiser and Squealer knelt on either side of Umala, each of them sucking one of her enormous, flaccid breasts.

Jack was glad that Umala was facing away from him, so he didn’t have to see her look of ecstasy.  Even the sight of her gelatinously heaving back was almost enough to make him puke.  Fevered waves of hot and cold swept through his body as he choked down his bile.

He became angry that she was getting to him, and that was it.  As soon as he let himself feel any anger at all, it took over.  It swelled into a towering rage that filled his entire consciousness.  He literally saw red.  Jack raised his gun and shot Umala.

But the sight of her body being struck by blue energy brought only a small measure of satisfaction.  It wasn’t nearly enough.  When Umala slumped backward, her hated face upturned before him, he stepped forward and grabbed her plaited hair.  In a burst of berserker strength, he pulled her enormous bulk off the bed without even feeling the effort.

Jack raised the gun over his head in a clenched fist.  He had forgotten it was a gun.  It was just something to hit with.  But before he brought it down on Umala’s face, he noticed that her eyelids were fluttering.

Sanity returned in a cold rush.  Umala was already coming to, and Jack realized it was because of the pain he had inflicted when he dragged her by her hair.  He could see blood seeping from her scalp.  He quickly shot her again.

Then he went over to the men on the bed, whose Collars had forced them into unconsciousness as soon as he knocked out Umala.  He checked Squealer and the Warrior Guy, shuddering with relief when he found their pulses.  One command from Umala’s neural implants could have killed them instantly.  His loss of control could have cost them their lives.

Jack struggled to pull himself together.  He couldn’t allow that to happen again.  It was absolutely essential that he never allow personal emotion to interfere with life-and-death decisions.

Even happiness couldn’t be trusted.  After all, wasn’t that how Charlie had died?  He’d been so lost in happy anticipation as he prepared for the family camping trip.  That was what had made him careless.  That, and the fact he was too goddamn comfortable around guns.

_Guns and pain and death.  That’s what I’m all about._

Jack’s body tensed as the dreaded memories rushed over him.  That eternal second when the gunshot rang out, and he realized what he’d done.  The trifling weight of Charlie’s body in his arms, the heat of Charlie’s blood soaking into his clothes.  The terrible moment when he’d known that he’d never again see his son’s eyes sparkle as they played ball together.  Or hear him laugh.  Or hear him cry.  All of it gone forever.  Nothing left.

Jack found himself choking back a sob.  He clapped his fists against his forehead, still gripping the Ashoran gun.  _No,_ he commanded himself.  _You are_ not _going to lose it._

With a supreme effort of will, he once again shoved his emotions down to the bottom of his mind.  He visualized the great trap door in his head, making it as thick and strong as the enormous door that was supposed to protect Cheyenne Mountain from nuclear attack.  He saw and felt the door falling shut with a resounding, air-tight thud, and imagined himself turning the wheel to lock it.

With considerable relief, Jack felt himself regaining his equilibrium.  His inner barriers had not been permanently breached.  _Thank you, God,_ he thought.

Jack waited until he believed he was back in combat mode.  Then he called Daniel on the phase-shifted radio and told him it was safe to start deactivating the Collars of the men in the Big Room.  After that, he called Ifefal into the room.  They found Umala’s data-wristlet and destroyed it.  Then they decloaked, and Ifefal used her Collar deactivator.

“Wake up,” called Jack.

The Warrior Guy stirred against his bonds, but didn’t quite come to.  Jack figured he might be partially stunned, since Umala had been on top of him when Jack shot her.  Squealer seemed dazed, but that was normal for him.  Bruiser sat up and looked confused – until he saw Jack.  Then he looked alarmed.

That look of alarm was frozen forever when Jack shot Bruiser neatly between the eyes with his P90.  Perhaps it was indulgent to use his P90 instead of his high-tech Ashoran weapon, but it felt just right.  No ray gun could match the simple, satisfying violence of a bullet impacting human flesh at 3000 feet per second.

Squealer’s body jerked at the sound of the gunshot, as if he’d been shot, too.  The fear that was always in his eyes intensified to terror.  He began to tremble.

“It’s okay, Squealer,” said Jack, using a soft, calming tone.  “Everything’s going to be okay from now on.”

Ifefal was gasping in shock.  “But,” she sputtered, “you said you’d only kill in self-defense.  You _promised_ …”

“I promised not to kill any _women_ except in self-defense,” said Jack.  “Can I help it if when I said ‘women,’ you Ashorans heard ‘people’?”

But Jack’s attention was really on Squealer.  He was slowly approaching the brain-damaged man.  When he reached Squealer, he gently put a hand on the man’s shoulder.  Then he stood quietly, gazing into Squealer’s eyes.  Gradually, the panic drained from Squealer’s face and body.

“But,” said Ifefal weakly, “you didn’t have to kill him.”

Jack looked at her.  “Yes, I did.  He was a very bad man.  He was the kind of man who would have caused nothing but pain as long as he lived.  Can you understand that?”

Something flickered in Ifefal’s eyes.  She suddenly seemed calmer.  Jack realized that her subconscious understood perfectly.

Jack moved to the other side of the bed.  With an efficient yank, he pulled Bruiser’s huge corpse out of the way.  It slid against the wall before hitting the floor, added a trail of blood and brain to the patch of gore that was already spattered behind the bed.  That kind of head shot might leave a small, neat entrance wound, but the exit wound was another story.  Basically, the back of Bruiser’s head was gone.

“See?” said Jack to Squealer.  “Bruiser’s dead.  Very dead.  He’ll never hurt you again.”

Ifefal made a gagging sound.  Jack looked toward her to find that her delicate features where white, her eyes huge and unfocused.

“Sorry,” he told her gently.  “Why don’t you go into the kitchen?  Wash your face, get yourself a drink of water if you like.  I’ll finish up in here.”

After Ifefal left the room, the Warrior Guy finally came around.  As Jack untied him from Umala’s bed, he explained the situation.  He noticed that Squealer was listening, too, and wondered how much the brain-damaged man understood.

When the Warrior Guy was free of his bonds, he sat up shakily and touched his Collar.  “Is this truly dead?” he whispered.

“As dead as Bruiser,” said Jack.  “That Collar is just jewelry now.  It’s as if you weren’t wearing one at all.”  Jack touched his own bare neck.

True understanding began to dawn in the big man’s eyes.  He looked toward Umala.

“She’s not dead,” Jack told him, “just stunned.  And I need to go do some things right now.  Can you take care of Squealer while I’m gone?”

“Yes,” said the Warrior Guy.

“Can you take care of Umala, too?”

The Warrior Guy didn’t answer.  His gaze went back to Umala’s unconscious body, and stayed there.

“Like I said, I’ll be back soon.”  Jack left the bedroom, and closed the door behind him.


	20. So Much for Plan A

“Fire!” ordered Jack.

There was a massive sizzling sound as forty blue bolts shot through the air of the Big Room.  About half hit their targets, engulfing the black torture-boxes in sparks.  Some of the other bolts at least struck the pedestals on which the boxes stood, but many shot past and hit the opposite wall.

Jack kept his face carefully expressionless.  “Better,” he said.  He reminded himself that most of the men weren’t used to guns of any sort; but, damn, this was pretty close range.

If they’d had more time, he’d have said something a whole lot more challenging than “better.”  But, at this point, the men’s morale was more important than their marksmanship.  Many had been at the Arena for years.  Jack was doing all he could to give them back their confidence and self-respect.

“Break up into squads,” he said.  “We’re going to have another round of instruction and target practice.”  Jack let his gaze pass down the line of men, catching the eyes of each for an instant.  “And make sure you take full advantage; because, after that, we’ll be moving out.  We’ll be hitting Government House – and getting the hell off this planet!”

The men cheered wildly, many waving their stun-guns over their heads.  Each had been provided with a pair of “bicycle shorts,” and Jack had insisted on bringing solvent so they could wash off the Syndicate’s paint, too.  Many of the men had also hacked off their long hair.

They had followed Buddy’s example on that.  With the stumps of his plaits sticking out unevenly, and the paint and body jewels gone, Buddy looked like a different man.  And he was beginning to act like one, too.  He was yelling and whooping with the rest, his face transformed by feral joy.

Jack smiled at the sight.  All the men were beginning to act like soldiers, instead of downtrodden slaves robbed of all dignity.  He glanced at Sam, and saw her gazing at him with pride.  That was almost enough to undo him.

“Okay,” he said, “glad we’re all happy.  Now, back to target practice!  And I think we need a new target.  Sam, can you lower the shackles from the ceiling?”

Sam nodded.  But Matao (formerly known as Jade Tiger) called out, “I have a better idea.  Why don’t you bring in the rest of the Trainers?”

The men responded with an atavistic growl that told Jack his embryonic army was in danger of turning into a lynch mob.  Their rage was understandable – even a good thing, up to a point.  But it was also a threat to discipline.

“Hey!” he snapped.  “Did I ask for opinions?  Our goal is to get off this planet, and I expect every man here to concentrate on making that happen.  That means following my orders.  Anybody got a problem with that?”

The ominous growl subsided, and they all shook their heads.  Matao said, “Sorry, sir.  I meant no disrespect.”

The squads began to form.  Each one was headed by one of the few Arena slaves who was familiar with guns.  He and Sam would circulate among the men, supervising and giving additional instruction.

Jack was about to step forward to do that when a familiar voice said, “So they’re still thirsty for blood.  Even though you already gave them buckets.”

Deeply annoyed, Jack turned and met Daniel’s eyes.  Nara was standing beside him, looking equally stiff and judgmental.  In all the commotion, he hadn’t noticed their return.

This was one of those moments when Jack truly wanted to smack Daniel, but he suppressed his anger.  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Jack told him, his voice quiet and deadly.  “Did Elal show you the tunnel to Government House?”

Daniel continued to meet Jack’s stare in silence for beat.  Then he described the location of the tunnel entrance.  “We followed it to the end,” he added, “and confirmed it exits into Euthanasia House.

“Good,” said Jack.  “Did you take Elal back to her quarters and tie her up again?”

“Of course.  Ifefal stayed to watch over the prisoners, but none of them are giving us any trouble.  They’ve been totally cooperative.  Elal and the other three _surviving_ Trainers – and Sweet Ass – are all terrified.”

Sam had come up beside Jack.  “After we escape through the Stargate,” she said, “the Ashoran Government is bound to trace our intrusion back to the tunnel, and to this facility.  They’ll realize what sort of criminal activities went on here.  And they’ll also realize that the Syndicate’s back door into Government House made our escape possible.  Hopefully, that will inspire the Government to hand out stiff sentences to Elal and the other Wrestling Trainers.  So they’ll at least get something of what they deserve.”

“I can’t believe you just said that, Sam!” exclaimed Daniel.  “I can’t believe you’re actually wishing they had _all_ been killed.”  Speaking rapidly, his mild voice full of that sneaky edge that was so typical of him, Daniel said, “You know, I always believed that if you and Jack ever truly got together, you’d bring out the best in him.  But, apparently, what’s happened instead is that he’s bringing out the worst in you.”

Jack found himself stepping toward his erstwhile best friend.  He actually started to take a swing at him – but something in those earnest blue eyes held him back.

This was Daniel.  And Daniel always had a moral high horse between his legs; that was just the way he was.  Most of the time, Jack kind of admired that about him.  And found it reassuring, because he’d seen men lose their way amidst the ugly complexities of war.  Having Daniel around was a kind of ethical insurance policy.

But, every once in while, Daniel just got it wrong.  And when that happened, he was insufferable.  “Back off, Daniel!” Jack snapped at him.  “It’s done.  Get over it.”

“ _For the record_ ,” put in Sam, her tone glacial, “I _don’t_ wish that Elal and her Wrestling Trainers were dead.  They’re not as bad as the others were.  But they’re bad enough.  I was just hoping they would receive some punishment for their actions.”

“And Sam didn’t help me kill anybody!” added Jack.  “The only person I killed was Bruiser, and I did that all by myself.  What we did was give those women’s _victims_ the chance to decide what they deserved.  Who had a better right, Daniel?  You?”

Daniel looked pained.  Was he actually going to realize he’d gone too far?

“I apologize for misinterpreting your statement, Sam,” he said.  “But I still feel that the way you two handled this wasn’t right.  For one thing, you shouldn’t have taken the decision on yourselves and left everyone else out of the loop.”

“Oh, come on, Daniel,” said Jack.  “What have you got to complain about?  This way, _your_ hands are all clean and shiny.”

Daniel’s eyes flashed.  “As opposed to yours, which are red as Cain’s.  I don’t doubt the Arena slaves suffered greatly at the hands of the Trainers, but that’s exactly why they should never have been left alone with them.  Those men were completely traumatized.  It was unfair to suddenly place them in the position of passing judgment on their former slave-masters.  How could real justice emerge from that?  For God’s sake, just look at what happened to Umala!”

Jack squirmed inwardly as he remembered what they’d found when they returned to Umala’s bedroom, but then he got angry at Daniel again.  “If you had any clue what Umala did to those men, you wouldn’t be so quick to condemn them.”

“I’m not condemning them!  I don’t doubt their state of mind wasn’t normal.  Especially in Squealer’s case.  But, my God, they literally tore her body limb from limb!  That room brought to mind what I’ve read about the crime scenes left behind by Jack the Ripper.”

“It’s not as if she felt any pain,” cut in Sam.  “She never regained consciousness.”

“We _hope_ ,” said Daniel.  Looking straight into Jack’s eyes, he added, “At least, that’s what _some of us_ hope.”

Jack glared back at him, furious and a little off-balance.  He was beginning to wonder if maybe Daniel had a few valid points in there somewhere.

“Jack?”  It was Lagash’s voice, coming over the radio in Jack’s helmet.

_“What?”_ growled Jack.

“Three women have shown up at one of the doors of the Arena facility.  They tried to open the door, but I stopped them.”  There was a pause.  “Wait a minute.  They’ve gotten into the network somehow!  They’re attacking Nara’s blocks!  I’m taking steps to reinforce…”

Jack’s stomach sank.  “Is one of these women a little old lady with eyes like a shark?” he asked.

“Now that you mention it… _Damn!_   They just opened the outer door!  And I can feel them penetrating deeper and deeper into the facility’s network.  I’m trying to block, but I estimate they’ll reach the control room’s systems within a few minutes.”

_Crap,_ thought Jack. _So much for Plan A_.

Jack traded glances with Sam, Daniel, and Nara, who could all hear Lagash, too.  “Okay,” he told Lagash.  “Those are Syndicate higher-ups, and it sounds like they’re going to re-take the facility’s computer systems.  We knew this could happen.  Destroy the key systems in the control room.  Then, retreat toward our position.  Close the doors after you, and blow the door controls.”

The lights in the Big Room flickered, causing the men to stop practicing with their stun-guns and look around apprehensively.  Many looked toward Jack.

“I just destroyed external communications, as well as internal monitoring,” said Lagash.  “I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Good,” said Jack.  Then he turned toward the men, and began to address them in a matter-of-fact, confident tone.  “ _Listen up_.  We’re going to advance the schedule a little.  We’re heading for Government House _now_ , because some Syndicate people are entering the facility.”  Jack watched the men’s reactions closely.  Many looked scared; others looked as if they wanted to go after the Syndicate people.  But nobody seemed about to panic.  “It’s not that big a problem,” said Jack, hoping he was speaking the truth, “because this facility is illegal, so there’s no way the Syndicate can complain to the Government about us breaking in.  We’ll just lock the Syndicate people out of this end of the complex by closing and disabling all the doors in between.”  Jack indicated the large doors on either side of the Big Room.  “These doors were originally designed to be part of an underground bunker, so they’re damn tough.  By the time the Syndicate gets through them, we’ll be gone.  We’ll be off the planet.”  There was another cheer.  It sounded more uncertain than the last, but Jack was satisfied that the men were ready for action.

Lagash entered the Big Room.  He closed the door, and then shot out the controls.

“Okay,” said Jack.  “We’re leaving.”  He indicated the opposite door of the Big Room.  “Daniel, Nara:  take the lead.  Head for the tunnel entrance.  Sam, Lagash, Buddy:  you’re with me.  We’re bringing up the rear.  We’ll pick up Ifefal on the way, and then join everybody else at the tunnel entrance.”  Jack intended to have a word with Elal, too, but decided not to mention that in front of Daniel.  They didn’t have time for another argument.

After everyone had exited the Big Room through the second door, Sam closed it and destroyed the control mechanism.  Now, the Syndicate people would have to burn through the Big Room’s two reinforced doors to get here from the outer chamber.

Jack’s group began to move quickly toward the Trainers’ quarters, with Jack giving them a few instructions along the way.  They soon arrived at Elal’s rooms, where the prisoners were being kept.  Jack left Sam and Lagash in the corridor to keep watch, and entered with Buddy.  Ifefal was waiting inside.  “I’m ready to go,” she said to Jack.  She glanced at the four women and one man who were sitting in various sofas and chairs, their hands and feet bound.  “We’re leaving the prisoners here, right?”

“Leave us here?” cried Sweet Ass.  “You’re just going to abandon us?  We’ll starve!  We’ll die of thirst!”

“No, we won’t,” said Ishpia, her tone defiant.  “Our people will be here soon.  They’re probably here already.  That’s why you’re leaving in such a hurry, isn’t it?”

Jack said nothing.  He was staring at Elal.  As soon as he’d entered the room, Elal had begun giving him hurt, bewildered looks, as if to say, _How could you do this to me?_ Jack found that maddening.

It shouldn’t have bothered him so much.  She was a whacko; he knew that.  But seeing her again, in these too-familiar rooms, was even more difficult than he’d expected.  Though he was staring at Elal, Jack was acutely aware of the bedroom door off to his right.  He could almost _feel_ it there.

Realizing he was on the verge of a flashback, Jack tried to get a grip on himself.  But he was finding it remarkably difficult to keep his mind in “combat mode.”

He walked slowly toward Elal.  With each step, more fear showed in her eyes.  By the time he was standing over her, she was breathing rapidly, her hazel eyes wide.  _That’s right,_ thought Jack.  _Be afraid.  Be very afraid._

“How many people does the Syndicate have inside Government House?” he asked menacingly.  “Where are they positioned?  How does the Syndicate communicate with them?”

“The other male already asked me those questions,” said Elal.

Jack had given Daniel the task of interrogating the prisoners, with Nara and Ifefal’s help, because he and Sam needed to concentrate on getting the men ready.  Daniel had shared the results prior to checking out the tunnel.  But Jack had always planned to do a follow-up with Elal, since he knew she was a convincing liar.  People who habitually lied to themselves often were.  Now, unfortunately, they were running out of time.

“But now _I’m_ asking,” Jack ground out.  “And you’re going to tell me what you didn’t tell him.”

“But I told the other male everything I know!” protested Elal, getting teary and agitated.

“The _fuck_ you did,” said Jack.  Some dispassionate corner of his mind observed that his voice sounded rather odd.  It was coming out so clotted with emotion it barely sounded like his.

Jack lifted his P90 and pointed it at Elal.  “You know what this is?” he barked at her.  “It’s my primitive patriarchal gun.  It fires lead slugs that tear into people’s bodies and mess up their organs.  I used it to kill Bruiser.  And I’d love an excuse to use it on _you_.”

“Don’t hurt her!” yelled Sweet Ass.  He was the only one who protested; the other Trainers remained silent.  _A match made in hell,_ thought Jack.

Elal began to cry.  She really did have certain child-like qualities – which drove him crazy.  He knew there was a part of her that lived in a fantasy world, where what she did to the Arena slaves was just a game.  A fun, harmless game, in which the men were her beloved playmates.  But there was also a part of her that had a much more realistic grasp on who she was and what she was doing.  Because she was _not_ a child; she was just an extremely fucked up adult.

“Bronzy!” she wailed at Buddy.  “Help me, _please!_   Don’t let him hurt me!”

Jack tensed.  He thought he knew how Buddy would react, but Elal had had such a hold over him.

“Tell him what he wants to know, Eli,” said Buddy, his tone concerned and sympathetic.  “He won’t hurt you if you do that.”

Buddy’s voice made Jack feel a little calmer inside.  Good cop, bad cop.  Yep.  That was what they were doing.  It was all perfectly sensible, and he was entirely in control.

“Come on, Eli,” said Buddy.  “You must know more than what you told Daniel.  You’re Mimoisa’s great-niece.  You’re part of the Syndicate Family.”

“You think that _matters?_ ” yelled Elal, suddenly sounding a lot more adult.  “You think Mima tells me anything?  She doesn’t!  She thinks I’m weak.”

Unfortunately, that had the ring of truth.  And yet…  “I know you,” said Jack.  “You’re holding something back.  What is it?  Tell me NOW!”  As he shouted, he jerked the rifle toward her.  He’d meant it to be just a threatening act, but as he acted enraged, the real rage almost took over.  Only a lifetime of discipline kept him from actually pulling the trigger.

Elal flinched back.  “No, _please!”_ she wept.  “We’ve sold male slaves to the Government, okay?  To some kind of powerful group inside the Government.  I don’t know who!  It’s all very secret.  That’s all I know, I swear!”

And that was almost it.  Jack’s rage began to fade as he took in the information.  But then Elal went on.  “Please, Goldy,” she said, her eyes full of tearful sincerity, “you wouldn’t really hurt me, would you?  I was _good_ to you!  I protected you from Umala!  I _helped_ you!”

Jack’s mind seemed to go blank for a moment.  Then, a series of full-sensory memories assaulted him.  The ache in his muscles after Elal had inflicted Punishment, and the accompanying feeling of exhausted helplessness.  The ache in his groin after she had used the Collar to force him to experience pleasure.  The softness in her expression during sex.  That was the worse thing; that twisted sense of intimacy.  She’d been able to make him believe, sometimes, that he could reach her.  That he could get her to help him.  But he’d never even been able to make her acknowledge she had wronged him.

“You know, the hell of it is, that’s sort of true.”  The voice sounded quite calm.  It seemed to belong to someone else.  “You did shield me from Umala.  But you also hurt me.  Kind of like this.”  Jack lowered the barrel of his P90, and shot Elal in the knee.

Elal screamed and writhed in agony.

“Jack!” shouted Buddy.  “Why did you do that?”

“Eli!” cried Sweet Ass.  “ _No._   Eli!”

He heard Ifefal gasp.  She came to Elal’s side, and began pulling medical equipment from her backpack.

He heard the door open.  He turned, and there were Sam and Lagash, looking shocked.  He met Sam’s eyes, and realized she didn’t understand.  “It wasn’t revenge,” he told Sam.  “I just wanted her to _get it._ ”  He wasn’t sure if he’d said it out loud, or just thought it, but whatever.  It seemed to get through.  Sam’s eyes reflected his pain, and he was glad.

Jack turned back toward Elal, and saw that Ifefal had given her some kind of shot, so she’d stopped screaming.  That was okay.  She’d already felt the pain.  Ifefal was working on her knee, while Buddy muttered to her reassuringly.  Buddy and Ifefal both looked strangely distressed.  Elal was staring upwards vacantly.

Elal’s glazed expression struck Jack as significant.  Something seemed to shift inside him, and the room snapped back into normal focus.

Had he really imagined that shooting Elal in the knee would somehow help straighten out her crooked mind?  _Crap,_ he thought.  _What was that?_   _Where was my head at?_

He took a couple of steps back from Elal, face burning and guts frozen, as he realized this was the second time he’d lost it during this operation.  The first time had been in Umala’s bedroom, and he’d sworn to himself it wouldn’t happen again.  So much for promises.

Jack was now extremely frightened.  His people had to fight their way to the Stargate, and he had to lead them in the struggle.  How could he do that if he couldn’t trust his own judgment?

He felt Sam’s presence beside him, but didn’t turn to look at her.  He was afraid to.  But she slipped her hand into his and gripped it.

A wave of reassurance seemed to pour through him.  He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking, _I’ll be okay as long as I’m with Sam._ But then he remembered:  the plan required that they be separated.

“I’ve stopped the bleeding,” said Ifefal.  “She’s no longer in shock.  I think it’s safe to leave her now.”

“ _No,_ ” groaned Elal.  She wriggled weakly against her bonds, and turned desperate eyes toward Buddy.  “Don’t leave me, Bronzy, _please_.  You can’t leave me.  I _love_ you.”

Buddy regarded her sadly.  “You don’t love me, Eli.  You don’t know what that is.  And, by the way, my name isn’t Bronzy.  It’s Octave Desimus.”

Jack felt a kind of happy shock.  Buddy – no, Octave – had reclaimed his name!  He looked at Octave, and found that Octave was looking back with a world of meaning in his gaze.

There had always been a certain unspoken understanding between them.  Like Jack’s bond with Teal’c, it was based on the fact that they were both natural soldiers.  Now, Octave was silently saying, _You got us this far.  You’ve done what I didn’t believe was possible.  I trust you to lead us the rest of the way._

Eyes stinging, Jack smiled and said, “Nice to meet you, Octave.”

He looked around at the others, daring to meet their eyes now.  Sam’s expression was very controlled, but he could see both worry and love in her eyes.  Lagash and Ifefal were regarding him with a certain caution that hadn’t been there before.  Well, there wasn’t much he could do about that.  Except try not to lose it again.  “Let’s go,” he said.  “We have a lot to do.”


	21. Nothing to Worry About

They left Elal’s quarters, and headed toward the tunnel entrance.  “From what Elal said,” commented Sam, “it sounds as if the Syndicate is in touch with the New Start Program.  I’ll bet the Program used some illegal chattel-males as human guinea pigs during development of the Memory Erasure process.”

Jack was grateful for Sam’s normal, businesslike tone.  “Yeah,” said Jack.  “Isn’t that special?”

“It’s extremely worrying,” said Lagash.  “It means the Syndicate is in communication with the highest levels of the Ashoran Government.”  He grimaced.  “All the way up to the High Council, since my mother is on it.”

“Does that mean the High Council knows about the Arena facility?” asked Ifefal.  “That’s terrible!”

“Mommy Dearest probably knows,” said Jack.  “And maybe some others.  But I don’t think they know about the tunnel.  Remember, the New Start Program tried to kill me by sending me to Euthanasia House.”

“Maybe they figured that even if you ended up at the Arena, you’d still be out of the way,” said Sam.

Jack shook his head.  “I don’t think the Government conspirators would be willing to put up with the existence of that tunnel; it’s too big a security risk.  You can bet the Syndicate and the Foundationists don’t tell each other everything.  So I don’t think the Syndicate is going to contact them about our invasion of the Arena; not right away, at least.  They won’t want the Government getting their hands on the Trainers in here, because they’re prime witnesses to the Syndicate’s activities.  And there’s probably physical evidence that they’ll want to remove, too.  Besides, I’m guessing there’s no particular love between them.”  Noting that Octave’s expression had closed up at these words, Jack said, “What do you think, Octave?  You know the Syndicate people pretty well.  What’s Mimoisa going to do?”

“It’s hard to say,” replied Octave.  But, after a few more steps, he drew up beside Jack and murmured, “I hate to tell you this, but Mimoisa’s going to be very angry when she find’s out her great-niece has been shot.  Not because she cares about Elal all that much, but because she’ll consider it an insult to the Family.  She’ll want to retaliate for that.”

Jack felt as if his backpack had suddenly turned to lead.  Along with his helmet, clothes, and shoes.  His stride faltered.  But then, with a tremendous effort, he set the guilt aside.  What he’d done was done; he couldn’t take it back.  He forced himself to concentrate on what needed doing now.

They reached the tunnel entrance.  The thick door, located in the back wall of the Arena facility, was currently open.  Daniel and Nara and the men were waiting in front of it.

“What happened?” asked Daniel.  “What took so long?”

Sam jumped in.  “We got some more information out of Elal,” she said.  “Apparently, the Syndicate has had dealings with the New Start Program.  Which means they have contacts at the highest levels of the Ashoran Government.  As soon as the Syndicate breaks through to this end of the facility and rescues their people, they’ll realize that the secret of the tunnel is going to be revealed, and that they’re going to lose the Arena as a result.”

Daniel’s brow furrowed.  Jack knew that Sam had deliberately presented the information in such a way as to encourage Daniel to focus on the ramifications, rather than on what may have just happened in Elal’s rooms.  He felt absurdly grateful for that.  He really didn’t want to deal with Daniel’s moral outrage just now.

“Great,” said Daniel.  “So after they’ve evacuated their people, the Syndicate will have no reason not to warn the Government that we’ve broken into Government House and are probably headed for the Stargate.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” said Jack.  “In any case, we’ve always known this operation had to move fast.  We’ll just have to pick up the pace a little more, that’s all.”  Jack made sure to speak loudly enough for everyone to hear.  He stopped and faced the men, who were spread out in front of the tunnel entrance.  “Are you ready to get off this planet a little _sooner?_ ”

The men responded with several variations of “Hell, yes,” some of them pretty colorful.

“Okay,” said Jack.  “Those of us with cloaks are going to go in first and secure Euthanasia House.  Except you, Lagash.  I want you to stay here and relay communications.  Euthanasia House should be empty right now, since we’ve still got several hours before the day shift starts.  But we’ll make sure.  When we give the okay, the rest of you can come through.  After that, we’ll block this tunnel by disabling the doors.”  Jack stepped closer to Octave and put a hand on his shoulder.  “This is Octave Desimus.  He’s in charge while I’m gone.  Octave will coordinate with me through Lagash.  Everybody got that?”

Lagash nodded, and the men readily agreed.  Octave met his eyes for a moment, and there was both pride and trepidation there.  Which confirmed to Jack that he was ready for the responsibility.

Jack led Sam, Daniel, Nara, and Ifefal into the tunnel.  At the far end, Sam used one of her gizmos to check for people on the other side of the door.  The reading came back negative.  Meanwhile, Nara hacked into the door mechanism.  “The Syndicate has already compromised the security system inside Euthanasia House,” commented Nara.  “I can get into it from here.”

When they opened the camouflaged door and stepped through, everything was quiet and dim.  Jack had his team fan out and check the place, but it really was empty.  Nice that something was going right.

Daniel was looking around with great interest.  “This is classic Minoan architecture!” he proclaimed.  “You can see it in the rectangular forms and strong horizontal lines, as well as in the style of the wall murals.  And notice those round pillars that are wider at the top than at the base?  Those are distinctively Minoan.  This place bears a strong resemblance to the Bronze Age palaces of Crete.”

“Thank you,” said Jack.  “We really needed to know that.”

After Sam and Nara confirmed that the security monitors inside Euthanasia House had been neutralized, Jack called Lagash on the phase-shifted radio and ordered that everyone else start coming down the tunnel.  Since the men had no cloaks, the original plan had been for them to stay in the Arena facility until it was time to assault the Stargate.  But with the Syndicate coming at them from the rear, that idea was out the window.

Jack and the other four members of the advance party gathered in front of the door that connected Euthanasia House to the rest of the Bureau of Liberation.  It was currently closed and locked.

“This is where we split up,” said Jack.  The plan called for Sam and Nara to penetrate the Bureau of Liberation in advance of the main force, preparing the way by compromising the electronic security systems.  But as Jack said the words, his stomach lurched.  The thought of being separated from Sam suddenly filled him with a kind of panic.  _God,_ he thought.  _I can’t do this anymore._   _I really can’t._ But the implacable voice that lived within him said, _Since when is “can’t” an option?_

Hoping that his mental stumble hadn’t been noticeable, Jack said, “We’re going to need to act more in parallel than originally planned.  Once you two have reached the Stargate network annex, and started working on disabling the control system for the automated weapons emplacements in the ‘Gate Room, I’m going to start marching our little army toward the Stargate.  You should still have time to neutralize the weapons-control computer and join us before we reach the Stargate security foyer and start our assault.”

He hoped.  The original plan was to wait until Sam and Nara had confirmed success before surging toward the Stargate, but there was no longer any time to spare.  Jack had to weigh the risks.  If Sam and Nara weren’t able to execute their task in time, their “army” might get trapped in the Stargate security foyer, unable to reach the Stargate itself due to the automated weapons in the ‘Gate Room.  But if Government forces were alerted before their uncloaked “army” reached the Stargate foyer, the gig was up.  They needed the element of surprise to win.

“And then,” finished Jack, trying to sound confident, “we all go home.”  Chances were that even if the operation was a success, not all of them would make it.  But Jack didn’t allow himself to think that thought.

Sam pulled out her gizmo and began checking for people on the other side of the Euthanasia House door.  After confirming that the area was empty, she joined forces with Nara to hack deeper into the security network.  They extended their influence to the systems in the adjacent area.

“Okay,” said Nara.  “We can now open this door without it being reported by the monitoring system.”

Jack looked at Sam and Nara.  “Ready to head out?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Nara, looking determined.  Then her gaze shifted to Daniel.  Daniel stepped forward and embraced her.

“Yes, sir,” said Sam, which made Jack wince.  That “sir” had slipped out spontaneously, and he didn’t like it.  He didn’t want to be Sam’s commanding officer anymore.  Jack hugged her fiercely, burying his face against her neck.  She felt so good.  It felt so good to be able to touch her like this.

Realizing he was probably squeezing too hard, Jack reluctantly let go and drew away.  Sam smiled reassuringly and said, “See you at the Stargate.”

Jack tried to smile back, but his guts were in knots.  He wanted to stay with Sam, but knew that wasn’t wise.  The men needed him.  And Sam was perfectly capable of looking out for herself and Nara.

Everyone recloaked, and then Nara opened the door that led into the labyrinthine depths of Government House.  She and Sam stepped through.  Sam turned and looked at him one last time, her cobalt eyes speaking volumes.  Then, the door closed behind them.

“Jack,” came Lagash’s voice, speaking over the helmet radio, “all the men are in the tunnel, and I’ve disabled the door to the Arena complex.  We’re ready to come through.”

Jack moved to an inner door that gave him a line of sight to the back wall, where the tunnel exited.  “Go ahead,” said Jack.

Octave appeared to step right through the wall.  Despite the go-ahead from Jack, he quickly scanned his surroundings, gun at the ready.

Jack decloaked and waved.  “Welcome to Government House,” he said.

Soon, the rest of the men had poured out of the tunnel.  Lagash came through last, closing and disabling the tunnel door on this end, as well.

Now they would have to wait a while.  Jack hated waiting, and he knew it wouldn’t be good for the men’s nerves, either.  He would have liked them to practice their shooting, but Sam had said that wouldn’t be a good idea.  All those energy discharges might be picked up by uncompromised security systems elsewhere in Government House.

So, he gave the men another pep talk/briefing.  He explained that Sam and Nara had gone ahead to blaze a trail for them.  As the two women breached the electronic security systems, they would leave behind a series of electronic “keys.”  That would enable the rest of them, including the large group of uncloaked men, to follow quickly along the same path without tripping any alarms or being picked up by the monitors.  The cloaked members of their party would lead the charge, stunning any Government employees in their path, so that no one would see the uncloaked men pass through.  But they had to move as fast as possible.  The longer it took, the more likely it was that the Government would notice something amiss.

Jack then had Ifefal start telling them about the general layout of the Bureau of Liberation.  Both Euthanasia House and the Stargate Facility were considered part of the Bureau, but the Stargate was almost at the other end of the area of Government House that housed the Bureau.  And since the Bureau of Liberation processed all the people that the Ashorans kidnapped from other worlds, it was a huge area.

“It sounds like we have to go a long ways through Government House to get to the Stargate,” said Umbet (formerly known as Red Panther).  “How can we be sure we won’t get lost?  Don’t men get lost inside Government House all the time?  Do we have a map?”  Umbet was one of those who had spent time as a regular chattel-male before falling into the hands of the Syndicate, so he’d probably heard stories about Government House.

“Detailed maps of Government House are unavailable,” said Ifefal.  “You see, this building has sacred functions as well as administrative ones.  There’s a tradition that the House represents the Goddess’s wonderfully intricate design for the universe, which is full of unexpected twists and cannot be fully encompassed by any human mind.  It’s felt that to try to map the House would be disrespectful to the Goddess.”

There were incredulous expressions from some of the men.  _Yeah,_ thought Jack, _I can’t believe it either._

“But,” said Umbet, “if there’s no map…”

Jack raised a placating hand.  “There may not be a written map, Umbet, but there’s another kind of map.  Have you ever heard of an Ashoran getting lost in here?”

Umbet frowned in thought.  “No.”

“Only chattel-males can get lost,” said Ifefal, “because they don’t have interfaces in their brains.  There are electronic ‘signposts’ throughout Government House, which keep you oriented if you have the proper neural equipment.  That’s why Daughters and Sons of Ashora never have any problem.”

“So there’s nothing to worry about,” said Jack.  “Ifefal and Lagash will guide us.  They’ll make sure we stay on the path that’s been prepared for us by Sam and Nara.”  Jack tried to sound reassuring; but, in fact, the whole business of the missing map was a sore point with him.  _Somebody_ had to have one!  After all, this structure had been built by Ashorans.  How could there not be blue prints?  How could the building be maintained without some kind of structural diagram?  But Sam and Nara had both told him that, if any such map existed, they couldn’t find it.

After Ifefal’s presentation, Jack distributed energy bars from the team’s backpacks, and told everyone to take a snack break.

Jack paced restlessly as he chewed on his bar.  He kept glancing at his chronometer, watching it creep toward Sam’s check-in time, and trying to clamp down on his rising anxiety.  When Sam’s check-in time came and went, his anxiety level went through the roof, even though he knew that Sam and Nara weren’t supposed to drop whatever they were doing just to call in.  Jack tried to use his usual mental disciplines to get back into “combat mode,” but the mental cellar didn’t seem to be working anymore.  The damn door just wouldn’t stay closed.

“Jack?” came Sam’s voice.

His heart jumped.  “What’s going on, Sam?”

“Everything’s going smoothly.  We’re ahead of schedule, actually.”

“Then why are you calling in late?”

There was a pause.  “We were finishing the programming of one of our ‘keys’ at an important security nexus.  And it’s only six minutes past the check-in time.  I didn’t realize you were expecting us to be so exact.”

Jack felt like a fool.  “I wasn’t,” he said.  “Sorry, Sam.  I’m getting jumpy.  Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks, Jack.  I’ll talk to you again soon.”

“At the next _approximate_ check-in time.”

He could almost hear her smile.  “Actually,” she said, “we may reach the network annex before that.”  And then she said, “I love you, Jack.”

Jack was swept by such powerful emotions that he felt almost dizzy.  This was so much like the old days, and yet so not.  “I love you, too, panda-girl,” he said softly.  “Jack out.”

He just stood there for a moment, lost in a haze of love-euphoria.  Which was pretty ridiculous, given the circumstances.  _You’re definitely having a meltdown, Jack,_ he told himself.  But, at this particular moment, he couldn’t seem to feel worried about it.  So what if his emotions were bouncing around like a ping-pong ball at the Chinese finals?  Other people were allowed to have feelings.  Why couldn’t he have them, too?  All his adult life, he’d put duty before his personal feelings.  Maybe enough was enough.

Jack shook himself.  _Stop that, you idiot!  When we get back to Earth, you can indulge in all the soul-searching you like.  But not until then!_

He looked around at the men.  Most had finished their snacks and were sitting or standing in clumps, talking quietly.  The Warrior Guy – whose real name was B’tama – was sitting next to Squealer, helping him get the cap off a water bottle.  B’tama had volunteered to look after Squealer.  Ifefal had joined Lagash near the door, where Jack had stationed him with one of Sam’s gizmo to monitor the area outside.  Then Jack noticed Daniel, who was standing by himself, stock-still, staring at the wall.

No, wait.  He was staring at the _mural_ on the wall, which depicted the destruction of a city.  It showed elegant skyscrapers in flames, with a Goa’uld _ha’tak_ vessel in the sky above them.  The scene was painted in the same sort of happy, innocent style as the ocean mural in Sam’s bedroom, which didn’t work too well.  The effect was surreal and cartoonish.

Daniel appeared to be mesmerized by the image.  _Unbelievable_ , thought Jack.  Part of him was tempted to wander over and start harassing Daniel, like in the good old days, but another part felt reluctant to approach.

Suddenly, Daniel came out of his trance.  He whirled around and scanned the room, until his gaze met Jack’s.  “Jack!” he exclaimed, eyes alight.  “I think I figured it out!”

“Figured what out?”

“It’s obvious, really.  I mean, I guess I have no proof, but it just feels right.  Nara was both right _and_ wrong.  But that’s understandable.  It would be difficult for any Ashoran to imagine the truth.”

“To imagine _what_ truth, Daniel?”  Jack was beginning to feel really annoyed.

“The truth about the Founders’ Secret!” cried Daniel.  “I’ve got to tell Nara!”  Incredibly, he began to reach up to activate his helmet radio.

“Daniel!” barked Jack.  “You are _not_ going to call Nara in the middle of a critical operation to discuss _archeology!_ ”

“It’s not archeology,” said Daniel.  “It’s history.”

“I don’t _care!_ ” shouted Jack.  He was now standing toe-to-toe with Daniel, though he couldn’t seem to recall moving closer.  “If I hear _one more word_ out of you about history, archeology, mythology, or any other ‘ology while this mission is in progress, I’m going to do what I should have done years ago!  I’m going to _leave you behind!_   Do I make myself clear?”

Daniel stood his ground, but his face got the sort of pinched look that people got when they were in pain.  His lips even turned white.  “Very,” he said, his voice soft.  Then he turned and walked away.

An uncomfortable silence had fallen over the room.  It made Jack realize how loud his voice had been.  Maybe he had overreacted a little.  Where had all that anger come from, anyway?  It was already being replaced by annoyed regret.

“Jack,” said Sam’s voice.

“Go ahead,” said Jack.

“We’ve reached the network annex.  There were only two guards, and we knocked them out before they knew what was happening.  We’ve taken over the room, and are working on the weapons-control computer now.”

“Excellent,” said Jack.  “We’ll start heading for the Stargate Facility.  See you soon.”

Jack turned and addressed the room.  “It’s time,” he said.  “Form up into your squads.  Octave, you’re in overall charge of the men.  Lagash, you stay with Octave to act as guide and communications liaison.  Daniel, Ifefal:  you’re with me.”

When everyone was ready, Jack, Daniel, and Ifefal cloaked themselves.  Ifefal used Sam’s gizmo to check that the area beyond the door was still empty.  Then she used the electronic “key” that Sam and Nara had created.  This not only opened the door of Euthanasia House, but also neutralized the monitors in the next area.  They went out the door, and closed it behind them.

This put them at the edge of a large, open space with lots of tables and chairs, and a complex structure in the middle.  Ifefal said it was a cafeteria.  It was flanked by archways leading to a number of corridors.  On the far end was a closed door, which Ifefal said was the one they wanted.

As they began walking toward the other end of the cafeteria, Ifefal gave a little gasp and said, “Someone’s approaching that door from the other side!”

The door slid open.  Three women in grey uniforms stepped through, headed purposefully toward Euthanasia House.  Naturally, they didn’t notice the cloaked intruders in their cafeteria.

After the door slid shut behind them, Jack said, “On my mark, I’ll take the two on the right.  Daniel, you take the one on the left.”  He didn’t ask Ifefal to participate because her shooting wasn’t so hot.

He and Daniel quickly stunned the three women.  After they had crumpled to the floor, Jack approached and examined one of them:  a short, heavyset blond.

“I know this woman,” said Jack.  “She’s one of the Syndicate’s people.”

“Those are Euthanasia House uniforms they’re wearing,” said Ifefal.  “But it’s not starting time yet.”

“They must all be Syndicate people,” said Jack.  “The Syndicate sent them in early.”

“What does that mean?” asked Ifefal.

“It’s not good,” said Daniel.

For some reason, that statement really irritated Jack.  “It could be worse, Daniel.  They must still be trying to figure out who invaded their facility, which means they haven’t reached the Trainers yet.  Come on, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

Jack didn’t want the uncloaked men to wait in the cafeteria, since it had so many access points.  So, he had them stay in Euthanasia House while his advance party checked out the area beyond the far door.  This turned out to be a bewildering warren of small offices, storage rooms, and corridors, currently empty of personnel.  Once they’d secured the area, Jack ordered the men to join them in the maze-like office area.

Ifefal then opened the door to the next area, using the electronic “key” left behind by Sam and Nara, and they repeated the process.  And kept repeating it.  They hop-scotched along, with Jack and his two cloaked teammates securing each new area, and the uncloaked “army” following once Jack felt the area was safe for them.

Jack was pleased with the pace of their advance.  Since the day shift hadn’t started, there weren’t many people around.  They’d only had to stun a few.  Ifefal said most of the round-the-clock operations were near the Stargate, so there’d be more activity as they got closer.  But, so far, they’d made their way through lots of empty corridors and stairs and offices, as well as empty cafeterias, labs, and storage areas.  The place was a huge tangle of interconnected passages and rooms of all sizes, all stuck together in no apparent order.  Even though Jack’s training normally enabled him to stay oriented in new environments, he began to feel he might not be able to retrace their route.

When Sam checked in on the phase-shifted radio, she said that she and Nara were making good progress as well.  The weapons-control computer wasn’t an easy nut to crack, but Sam estimated they’d have it licked in another fifteen minutes.  Jack was happy to hear that, but he would have been happier to hear that Sam and Nara had completed their mission and were ready to rejoin the main group.

After talking to Sam, Jack found himself struggling to refocus on his surroundings.  He was walking down a wide corridor with Daniel and Ifefal.  Painted figures in strange costumes marched down the length of each wall, apparently participating in a ceremonial procession.  Jack started thinking he might ask Daniel about the murals to help take his mind off Sam.  That would also give him a chance to revisit what he’d said to Daniel earlier, and maybe tone it down a little.  Not that Daniel hadn’t deserved the reprimand.

Ifefal suddenly froze, her eyes wide.

“What is it?” asked Jack.

“Jack!”  That was Lagash’s agitated voice, coming through Jack’s helmet radio.  “I can’t sense the electronic signposts anymore!”

Jack looked at Ifefal, and she nodded.  His stomach sank.  “Ifefal can’t sense them either.  Somebody just turned them off.”

“I didn’t even know they could do that!” breathed Ifefal, obviously stunned.  “How could they do that to the sacred House?”  She frowned.  “It must be the Bureau of Internal Security.  They’re very secretive.”

“I bet _they_ have a map,” said Jack.

“This is bad,” said Daniel.  “They’re on to us.”

“No kidding,” said Jack.

“And, it also means…”

“Don’t say it,” Jack told him.  But, Daniel being Daniel, he said it anyway.

“…we’re lost in the Labyrinth.”


	22. Freedom or Death

“No, we’re not!” snapped Jack.  “We are _not_ lost in the Labyrinth.  Because Ifefal works here in the Bureau of Liberation, so she knows this place.  She can find her way around even without the electronic signposts.  Right, Ifefal?”

“Probably,” said Ifefal.  She didn’t sound terribly confident.

“Jack.”  It was Sam’s voice.  Up until that point, Jack had been more annoyed than afraid, but now his gut went cold as his mind raced.  “We seem to have a problem,” Sam went on.  “The electronic signposts…”

“Sam, get out of there!” cried Jack.  “Leave the Stargate annex _right now!”_

“But we haven’t finished…”

“It doesn’t matter!  They know we’re in Government House, and it’s obvious we’ll try for the Stargate.  Somebody’s bound to check on that room any minute now.”

There was a small pause.  “This room is force-shielded.  We can hold it for a while.”

“No, Sam.  Destroy the control computer and get out!”  As Jack spoke, he realized he hadn’t even considered the computer at first.  All he could think was that Sam was in imminent danger.

“That wouldn’t be good enough.”  Sam’s tone was implacably reasonable.  “The processing nodes in the weapons emplacements themselves are capable of independent operation.  They’re not as intelligent as the full system, but they’ll keep the weapons active.  The only way to neutralize them altogether is to take over the controls from here.”

“Sam’s right,” said Nara.  “None of you will have any chance of escape as long as the automated weapons in the ‘Gate Room are still functional.”

_None of_ you _…_   Nara’s choice of words seemed to echo in his skull.  Jack’s eyes met Daniel’s, and saw his fear reflected there.

_“We’re not leaving you behind.”_   It was Daniel who said it.  Jack felt incapable of speech.  His mind was full of violent static.

“You might have to,” said Sam.  “Our plan relied on surprise.  The Government still doesn’t know exactly where we are, but if you don’t… uh oh.  Someone’s trying to get in here.”

Jack’s heart and mind exploded, and the fragments flew in all directions.  He wanted to rush to her position and attack her attackers.  He wanted to _join her_ at all costs.  He couldn’t leave Ashora without Sam.  It was inconceivable.  But another piece of his splintered self knew he had an obligation to Daniel and the others.

“The room is holding, Jack,” said Sam.  “We’ll keep working on the computer.  You just have to get everyone to the Stargate as fast as you can.”

_You just have to…_   Jack found that his shattered thoughts and feelings were coming back together again, cohering into intense determination.  He _couldn’t_ fall apart just now.  He simply didn’t have the luxury.

“Lagash,” he commanded, “tell Octave to get all the men in here, _fast!_ ”

Even as Jack spoke, he started loping down the hallway, gesturing for Daniel and Ifefal to keep up.  When the door opened behind them, and men started boiling through, Jack looked back just long enough to catch Octave’s eye and say, “Come on!”

“Jack,” said Daniel, speaking rapidly as he trotted along, “no matter how fast we get to the Stargate, I can’t imagine they won’t have the rest of the guards there before us.  The barracks is only five minutes away.  That means we won’t outnumber them, like we planned.  They’ll outnumber _us_.  What about Sam and Nara?  There’s probably only a small force laying siege to their location.  Why don’t we go rescue them?”

“I know where you’re coming from,” said Jack.  “But rescuing Sam and Nara from the network annex won’t mean squat if we can’t get ourselves off this planet.  The longer we take to get to the Stargate, the worse our odds become, because it won’t be long before even _more_ troops get here from other parts of Government House.”  _So much for Plan B,_ he thought.  “We need something _else_.”  And then the answer hit him.  “Ifefal, how many new ‘chattel-males’ are being held in here?”

Ifefal’s eyes went wide.  “The number varies,” she said, “but there are usually about five hundred.”

“The numbers _are_ on our side!” exulted Daniel.  But then his expression grew uncertain.  He’d no doubt begun to realize what Jack had realized immediately.

“The male captives won’t make much of a fighting force,” Jack said to him.  “For several reasons.  But if they’re freed from their cells – and their Collars – the Ashorans will have to pull troops off the Stargate to deal with them.  Won’t they?”

“Definitely,” said Daniel.  “This _is_ Ashora.”

Lagash and Octave had caught up to them, with the rest of the men right behind.  They were all booking it together down the long hallway.

“But,” said Ifefal, “our route doesn’t take us through the areas where males are kept.  Sam and Nara avoided the male processing areas, because those are the busiest.”

_“_ Crap. _”_   The word came out as a small, enervated puff of breath.  _Why can’t things just go right for once?_ thought Jack.

“You’re not thinking of releasing the wild males, are you?” asked Lagash.

Jack gave Lagash an irritated glance.  Despite everything, the guy was still Ashoran.  “I would love to,” said Jack.  “but the male holding areas aren’t on our route, so Sam and Nara haven’t gimmicked the security systems for us.  The Ashorans would pinpoint our location.  We should split up; send a small cloaked party to create the distraction while the main part of our force continues toward the Stargate.  But how do we split Ifefal?  She’s the only one who can use the Collar deactivator, but she’s also the only one who knows the way to the Stargate.”

“Ifefal,” said Daniel, “how many _Collarless_ men are being held within the Bureau of Liberation?”

Ifefal frowned.  “About a third of the males will be in the initial holding cells, waiting to be processed.  Those men aren’t Collared yet.  The men being evaluated in the medical area aren’t either, but they’ll be anesthetized.”

“But aren’t the men kept drugged _before_ they’re ‘processed’?” asked Jack.  “The first thing I remember about Ashora is waking up with a Collar on.”

“Most aren’t kept drugged the entire time,” said Ifefal.  “It depends how long we take to get to them.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Daniel.  “That’s what we need, Jack.  Given Ashoran attitudes, the mere thought of Collarless men running loose inside Government House will create panic.  I guarantee the Ashorans will divert resources to deal with that.”

They reached the end of the hallway.  Everyone halted before a pair of large, elaborately decorated doors.  Ifefal immediately went to work on the doors.

Jack looked at Daniel, and was reminded of what had made this man his best friend.  Without needing to exchange a word, Jack knew that he and Daniel were on exactly the same page.

He turned to address everyone.  “This mission has entered a new phase.  The Ashorans know we’re in here, so you’re going to sprint the remaining distance to the Stargate, and shoot anybody that gets in your way.  Ifefal will guide you, Lagash will relay communications, and Octave will lead you.  I expect you to follow Octave’s orders as if they were mine.”

At these words, the men shifted uneasily, all their eyes on Jack.  “Daniel and I,” he continued steadily, “are going to create a diversion to draw some of the guards away from the Stargate.  Once the diversion is in play, we’ll go get Sam and Nara, and join you in the ‘Gate Room.  And then, we’re all getting off this lovely little rock.”

There was a silence.  The men weren’t stupid.  They knew that their chances of escaping were now greatly diminished.  And they also knew which part of Jack’s little plan was especially unlikely.

“We won’t leave without you!” cried one of the men.

“I’m not planning to stay,” said Jack, “but, regardless, _you’ll do what Octave orders you to do._   Is that clear?”  The men went still.

“Daniel,” said Jack, “the GDO.”  Daniel handed it over, and Jack strapped it to Octave’s arm.  “As I explained before,” he told the men, “Earth’s ‘Gate has an iris, which will prevent the Ashorans from coming after you.  I’m giving this device to Octave _just in case_.  It will allow him to signal my people to let you through the iris.  I’ve already taught Octave the code he needs, and Lagash and Ifefal know it, too.”

There was anguish in Octave’s eyes.  He knew what Jack was asking of him.  He knew that if Jack, Daniel, Sam, and Nara couldn’t reach the Stargate in time, Jack expected him to lead everyone else safely to Earth.

There was another silence.  Then B’tama raised his gun in the air and intoned, “Freedom or death.”

“Freedom or death!” they all cried.

Jack looked at Ifefal.  “You ready to open those doors?”

“Yes.  And if the two of you want to go to the initial holding cells, this is where we have to separate.”  She described how to reach the initial holding area.  “That part is easy,” she said, “but getting to the network annex from there isn’t.  Frankly, I’d have a hard time finding the way.  There’s no way I could just give you directions.  And what are you going to do about the locked doors?”

“Let us worry about that,” said Jack.  He drew his gun, and everyone copied the action.  Then Jack positioned himself behind one of the doors, while Daniel got behind the other.

Jack nodded at Ifefal.  Then he cloaked, as did Daniel.

The doors began to swing open.  They were heavy doors, covered with carved wood and enamel, and they opened ponderously.  As soon as the gap was big enough, he and Daniel slipped through, into a round chamber with several arched openings along its circumference.  The chamber was empty except for a kind of animated tableau in the center.  The luminous, semi-transparent forms depicted a woman in what Jack had come to recognize as Ancient Minoan costume, surrounded by men.  Some of the men knelt and gazed at her adoringly, while others prostrated themselves before her and kissed her feet.

“Ah,” said Daniel.  “Obviously intended to represent the proper relationship between the sexes.”

“Obviously,” said Jack.

Jack and Daniel checked the archways, but saw no one approaching down any of the corridors.  “We’re all clear,” said Jack, speaking to Lagash over the phase-shifted radio.

Jack and Daniel decloaked as Ifefal, Lagash, and Octave entered the round chamber, with the men streaming after them.  Ifefal was frowning.  “This is a busy intersection,” she said.  “There should be lots of people passing through, even at this hour.”

“With the signposts off,” said Daniel, “things aren’t exactly normal.  The Ashoran workers must be aware they have intruders.”

Ifefal headed for the rightmost archway, with Lagash and Octave right behind her, and the men following in a column.

Jack gestured toward the third archway from the right.  “Let’s go,” he said to Daniel.  They recloaked, and entered a corridor that had mismatched, unevenly spaced doors on either side.  All the doors were closed.

As they moved quickly down the hallway, Jack informed Sam and Nara of the plan.  The women tried to argue that their lovers should go straight to the Stargate after freeing the male captives, but Jack cut the argument short.

Jack and Daniel followed the corridor through an intersection, and around a couple of sharp bends.  They continued to encounter closed doors and a deserted passageway.  _Damn,_ thought Jack, his mood turning grim.  _There goes Plan C.  Or was that D?_ After the third bend, they reached a large door with a red outline.  According to Ifefal, the “initial holding area” was on the other side.

“Sam and Nara didn’t prepare this door for us,” said Daniel, “and Ifefal said the room is reinforced, so we can’t use the disintegration setting on our guns to blast our way in.  So, what’s your plan for getting past this door?”

Jack glared at Daniel.  “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re way past _plans_ here.  We’re improvising and praying now.  I thought we’d be able to take an Ashoran prisoner, and use her to get in.  I wasn’t expecting them to go into lockdown so fast – it’s not like this is a military facility.  But we haven’t seen a soul.  Maybe we could find someone if we blasted through one of these other doors, but that’ll alert the powers-that-be to our position.  We may have to settle for that kind of smaller distraction, but for right now, our best bet is to just wait and hope someone enters this corridor.”

“ _Just wait?_   While the rest of the team rushes to get to the Stargate?  While the Ashorans rush to send more troops in here, and to break into Sam and Nara’s location?”

“Yes, Daniel, it sucks!  You got a better idea?”

Daniel pursed his lips.  “No,” he admitted.

They waited.  Jack began to shift from one foot to the other, and then to pace.  After what seemed a long time, Jack said, “So, when’s it coming?”

“When’s what coming?”

“My scolding.  For shooting Elal in the knee.  I know Ifefal and Lagash must have told you by now.”  Jack didn’t look at Daniel as he said this.  He continued to gaze down the empty corridor.

There was a pause.  “Am I really that self-righteous?”  Jack did look at him then.  Daniel grimaced ruefully and said, “Never mind.  I know the answer.”

Jack was surprised.  That was almost an apology, and Daniel never apologized for his moral zeal.

“Daniel,” he said, “if I start doing something crazy, you’ll tell me, right?”

“Of course,” said Daniel.  “I always tell you when you do crazy things.  And you always tell me when I do crazy things.  And then we ignore each other.  That’s the way it works.”

_Sure it is,_ thought Jack.  Though Daniel certainly seemed able to blithely ignore what Jack said to him – including, at times, his orders – Jack knew for damn sure that he didn’t really ignore what Daniel said.  On the contrary, Daniel’s opinions affected him deeply.  Not that he would ever admit that.

“I’m serious, Daniel.  I think I may be cracking up.”

Daniel’s eyes met his, full of that special brand of fervor that Jack figured he must have patented by now.  “I don’t believe that for a second,” said Daniel.  “You’ve been through a hell of a lot, and it’s affected you.  _Of course._   Nobody’s made of stone, not even you.  But you are _not_ cracking up.  I _know_ you’re going to do whatever it takes to keep us safe.  Just like you always do.”

Jack looked down for a moment, trying not to let Daniel see how tremendously relieved and encouraged he felt.  It was ridiculous, really.  Why did he believe that just because Daniel said it?

His mind went back to the first Abydos mission, and the hopeless geek that Daniel had appeared to be.  He remembered how the soldiers on his team had picked on Daniel, angry that this nerd’s intellectual overconfidence had gotten them stranded on an alien world.  Jack had intervened, impatient with his men’s petty spite.

But something about the way Daniel had handled the harassment that had caught Jack’s attention.  Daniel had been so physically helpless, and yet so doggedly unaffected by the men’s behavior.  He hadn’t fallen into a state of poor-little-me self-pity, nor had he responded to the men’s anger and malice by returning it.  The vast majority of people would have done one or the other.

That had been Jack’s first clue that the unworldly young archeologist was something special.  During the course of the mission, Jack had come to realize that Daniel had an extraordinary spirit.  And a little of that passionate, iron-willed idealism had rubbed off, inspiring Jack to believe there was still some point in living, after all.

Jack experienced a renewed sense of gratitude for that.  The intervening years had brought a lot of pain and hardship, including this latest ordeal on Ashora – but they’d also brought so much that mattered.  A chance to do some worthwhile things, and to get to know some very special people – and to love as he’d never loved before.  If he’d died on Abydos, as he’d originally planned, he would have died without ever meeting Sam.

He refocused on the man who stood beside him now, comparing this confident scholar/soldier to the geek he’d met all those years ago.  Daniel had changed a good deal since joining SG-1.  The toughness that had always been inside him was no longer so hidden.  He had become more aggressive and, to some extent, more pragmatic.  And as Jack thought about that, he realized that maybe Daniel didn’t really dismiss his perspective on the world quite as completely as it sometimes felt.

“Considering the way we ignore each other,” said Jack, “it’s amazing we’re both still alive.”

Daniel gave one of his small, rare smiles.  As usual, his forehead furrowed almost as if in pain – as if his face wasn’t quite sure how to accommodate a smile.  It always reminded Jack that Daniel hadn’t had an easy life.

“Yes,” said Daniel, voice soft and eyes alight.  “One of the great mysteries of the universe.”

Jack smiled in return.  They stood in companionable if slightly awkward silence for a moment.

And then, things went right for once.  The door to the “initial holding area” opened.  As a woman stepped out into the corridor, looking anxious and hurried, Jack and Daniel quickly slipped in under cloak.

Jack checked his chronometer and saw that, though it had felt like a very long time, they’d been waiting for only eight minutes.  “Thank you, God,” he said.

He and Daniel now found themselves at one end of a long, rectangular room, with another large door on the far end.  There were no paintings or decoration here; everything was white and sterile-looking.  To their right was a monitoring station that reminded Jack of the control room in the Arena facility.  Four women sat at a console, with a large array of holographic windows above them.  The windows showed tiny white cells, each holding one man.  The men were dressed in black loin-cloths and shoes, but did not have Collars.  Across from the monitoring station, three openings led into long hallways lined with doors.  Jack figured those were the holding cells pictured in the holographic windows.

The four women were armed, but only with stun guns, and their bearing didn’t seem very military.  Their guns, of course, would be those neural-controlled numbers that only Ashoran women could operate.  Without modification, no Ashoran weapon could be used by a man.

“I don’t care what Internal Security said!” one of the women suddenly exclaimed.  She sounded rattled.  “I don’t trust those women.  I say we get out of here now!  The Goa’uld are invading through the Stargate!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped another woman.  “The intruders are heading _for_ the Stargate, not away from it.”

“You call _me_ ridiculous,” sneered the first woman, “and yet you believe that?  How’d the intruders get in here if not through the Stargate?”

“It’s no use trying to leave,” put in the third woman.  “The Bureau of Liberation has been sealed off.”

“Which proves they’re trying to prevent someone from _getting_ _out!_ ” cried the first woman.

“They shouldn’t have turned off the signposts,” muttered the fourth.  “The Goddess will be displeased.”

Jack and Daniel exchanged looks.  “Seems to be some confusion about what’s going on,” observed Daniel.  “I guess Internal Security isn’t telling people the whole story.”

“What else is new?” said Jack.  “We need to take one of these women prisoner, and make her open the holding cells.  Then, we’ll make her guide us to Sam and Nara.”

“Uh, Jack,” said Daniel.  “Are we really just going to use the male captives as a distraction?  Don’t they deserve to get off Ashora, too?”

“Don’t _start_ , Daniel.”  Jack’s tone was especially harsh because he’d been thinking the same thing.  “We’ll be damn lucky to get Sam and Nara and ourselves out, without trying to drag a bunch of disoriented, unarmed men along with us.”

Making a snap judgment about which of the women would be easiest to intimidate, Jack positioned himself behind the one that was worried about Goa’uld invading through the Stargate.  At his signal, he and Daniel started stunning the other women.

When energy bolts materialized out of thin air to hit her companions, Jack’s target leapt to her feet and reached for her gun.  Jack grabbed her wrist.  She gasped as he made her drop her gun.  Then he twisted her arm behind her back, at the same time stripping off her data-wristlet and tossed it to Daniel.  He didn’t want the authorities alerted.  Not _yet._

Jack decloaked.  Keeping the woman’s arm in a lock, he pressed the barrel of his gun against her neck.  “Don’t move a muscle,” he growled.

When Daniel decloaked, the prisoner gave him a very intense stare – and then gasped again.  “Oh,” Daniel said to her, “did you just try to send a command to my Collar?  Sorry, it’s been deactivated.”  He dropped her data-wristlet on the floor and disintegrated it.  “I might as well not even be wearing a Collar,” he went on conversationally, “ _like_ _him_.”  Daniel jerked his chin toward Jack.

Jack’s prisoner swiveled her head around, trying get a look at him.  Jack shifted position so she could see him better.  When she caught sight of his bare neck, her eyes got so wide the whites showed around the irises.  _Damn,_ thought Jack, _Daniel was right about the “Collarless male” thing_.  _She’s completely freaked out._

“This is what you’re going to do,” he told her, trying to sound as masculine and menacing as possible.  “You’re going to open the doors of all the holding cells.  _Right now._ ”

“I can’t,” she whispered, eyes rolling in terror.

“ _Do it,_ ” Jack barked at her, “or I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”  _There,_ he thought.  _How’s that for clichéd villainy?_

The woman actually whimpered.  Then, there was a loud click as all the cell doors popped open.

Men began to appear in the hallways.  They all wore dazed expressions of one sort or another.  Some stood around incuriously, looking strangely serene – obviously drugged.  But even the men who didn’t appear to be drugged looked hopelessly confused.  After all, they’d just been kidnapped from some low-tech world.  They had no clue where they were or what was happening.

“Oh, no,” moaned the Ashoran prisoner, as more and more men left their cells.  “Oh, no.”

_Yeah, right,_ thought Jack.  _Just look at them._   _What a huge threat._

Lagash’s voice came over the helmet radio.  “Jack, we’ve almost reached the Stargate security foyer.  Ifefal says it’s around the corner and down the hall.”

“Good,” said Jack.  “We’re about to launch our little distraction.  Hopefully, you’ll soon see some of the Stargate guards leave the security foyer.  Wait till then to attack the Stargate Facility.”

“Got it,” said Lagash.

Jack turned his attention back to the freed males.  “Everybody listen up!” he called to them.  “This is your chance to escape from the female demons!  Follow us.”

He strode toward the door at the far end of the main room, dragging his prisoner with him.  Some of the men began to follow him, with more coming forward as Daniel coaxed and encouraged them.  Daniel also started trying to explain what was going on, which Jack considered pointless.  There was too much these men didn’t understand, and time was very short.

According to Ifefal, the other door led to the medical areas.  When Jack reached it, he gave his prisoner a rough yank and growled, “Open it!”  She didn’t even protest.  She seemed nearly catatonic with fear.  The door slid aside.

Jack stepped into a large, dimly-lit room filled with rows of “beds” laden with electronics.  A man lay on his back in each bed, and a holographic display hovered above each man’s head.  The men’s eyes were open, staring at the images that flashed above their faces, but it was evident they were in some sort of twilight mental state.

Several Ashoran women walked among the rows of beds, checking on the men.  When Jack entered the room with his prisoner, followed by lots of Collarless men, they all froze in wide-eyed shock.  One woman dropped the gizmo she’d been holding.  Another let out the sort of screech you might expect from a woman startled by a cockroach.  Then they all ran for the exits.

“When those women tell the authorities the wild males are loose,” said Daniel, “they’ll send soldiers over here in a hurry.  Count on it.”

“I just hope those soldiers are taken from the Stargate contingent,” said Jack.  “It can’t be much longer before more troops start pouring in here.  Speaking of which – we better get a move on.  This is taking too damn long.”

Jack turned toward the men they’d freed.  Most were standing in a clump, gaping at their surroundings.  Some of the drugged ones had begun to wander off aimlessly.  “There’re lots of exits from this room,” he told them.  “Pick one and run for it.  If you scatter, you’ll confuse the female demons.”  Then Jack put his mouth next to his prisoner’s ear and growled, “Show us the fastest way to the Stargate network annex.  _Or else._ ”

The Ashoran woman remained gratifyingly cooperative.  She led them through one of the exits, and they passed into another hallway.  However, there was a problem.  Many of the men from the holding cells continued to trail after them.

“Hey!” Jack barked at them.  “Shoo!  Vamoose!  You don’t want to go where we’re going, because we’re heading into a firefight, and you don’t have any guns.”

One of the more alert-looking men, a black guy with Rasta-type hair, frowned at him and said, “What’s a gun?”

“Oh, for crying out loud!”

“Jack?”  It was Lagash’s voice over the helmet radio.

_“What now?”_ snapped Jack.

“Uh… thirty guards just left the Stargate security foyer.”

Jack tried to get his blood pressure under control.  “That’s excellent, Lagash.  Hold on just a second.”  He looked at Daniel.  “While I talk to the team, you talk some sense into these idiots.  And remember, we’ve got to keep moving!”

So their strange procession continued down the hallway.  First came Jack, with the Ashoran prisoner in tow.  Then came dozens of confused-looking men in black loin-clothes, accompanied by a rapidly-talking Daniel.

“Sam,” asked Jack, “what’s your status?”  Lagash had made his announcement on “open mike,” so Sam and Nara had heard it, too.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “we haven’t quite finished taking over the weapons computer.  The people outside our door keep trying to take back control of this room’s security systems, so Nara and I have to fend off their electronic attacks and work on the computer at the same time.  But we’ve already compromised the outer security layers of the Stargate Facility, so we’re preventing the Ashorans from closing the doors of the Stargate security foyer or the ‘Gate Room itself.  And we should be done disabling the ‘Gate Room weapons emplacements within the next ten minutes.  The Ashorans haven’t been able to infiltrate this annex electronically, and they’ll need a blast cannon to break in here physically.”  There was a small pause.  “I’m not sure how far they’ll have to go to get a blast cannon.”

“We’ll be there to get you very soon, Sam.”

“Jack, about that…”

Jack cut her off.  “Did you hear that, Lagash?  By the time you guys fight your way into the security foyer, the ‘Gate Room should be safe to enter.  And your odds should be close to even, now.  There are ninety Stargate guards altogether, and you saw thirty of them leave, and a group of them are at Sam and Nara’s location, too.  Sam, any idea how many Ashorans are outside your door?”

“No, Jack.  We still haven’t been able to get any data from the hall sensors.  We think they’ve been destroyed.  But,”she added, _“_ there have to be _more than two._ ”

“In case you were wondering,” put in Nara, “Sam and I still think you should head for the Stargate instead of coming here.  Wouldn’t it be better if you boys helped with the assault?”

“Hey,” said Jack, “what kind of attitude is that for damsels in distress?”

“Daniel,” said Nara, “did you hear me?”

Daniel broke off his conversation with the freed captives long enough to say, “So noted.  See you soon, honey.”  If there was anybody who’d have no trouble following two conversations at the same time, it was Daniel.

Nara made a disgusted sound and signed off.

“Lagash,” said Jack, “you should wait a few minutes to let the guard detachment get farther from your position.  Octave will understand that.  Call us again when Octave decides to launch the attack.”

“Okay,” said Lagash.

During the conversation, Jack and Daniel had kept moving.  They’d made their way down the hallway, through some empty labs, and into another hallway.  Jack felt confident that his Ashoran prisoner was taking them down the correct path.  She was too terrified to do anything else.  And, thanks to Daniel’s efforts, many of the men in their unwanted escort had dropped off along the way.

But eight freed chattel-males still persisted in following them.

“Daniel?” inquired Jack, trying to stay calm.

Daniel’s face scrunched up in resignation.  “These men refuse to leave us, Jack.  They say they have an obligation to fulfill, since we freed them.”

“We will help you in your quest,” said the man who hadn’t know what a gun was.  He seemed to be the leader of the holdouts.  “I am a good fighter, and an excellent hunter.  Ask anyone who knows me.”

“We don’t doubt you, Wegage,” said Daniel.  “But you have no weapons, and no cloak.  You must fulfill your debt at another time.”

“I have my hands and feet, my eyes and ears!” insisted Wegage.

To his extreme irritation, Jack discovered that they’d all stopped moving.  “That’s it!” Jack yelled at the men.  “If you don’t turn around now, I’ll shoot you myself!”

“Please!” added Daniel.  “We appreciate your intentions, but you will help us best by letting us go on alone.  You must accept this.”

Wegage’s gaze went back and forth between Jack’s thunderous expression and Daniel’s earnest one.  Finally, his shoulders slumped.  “Very well,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Jack.  He’d meant it to be sarcastic, but somehow it came out sounding pretty sincere.  As he turned away from the men and started moving again, his sense of relief was touched with regret.  Which didn’t make any sense.

“Have they really stopped following?” he muttered to Daniel.

“Yes,” said Daniel.  After a pause, he added, “All those men are going to be recaptured and enslaved.”

“I _know_ , Daniel.  But at least they won’t get killed.”

He and Daniel hurried on in silence, making their way through a tangle of very narrow corridors and cluttered rooms in what appeared to be a storage area.  Jack tried to keep his mind off the battle that would soon be raging at the Stargate Facility.  That wasn’t his mission.  He couldn’t direct the battle from here.  _But,_ an inner voice whispered, _why the hell are you trusting Octave to do it?  No matter what your intuition says, you’ve never actually seen the guy in combat._   _Didn’t you abandon the men just so you could go after Sam?_   Guilt began trying to gnaw at him, but he ruthlessly suppressed it.  The decision was _made_.  He would concentrate on his own job, and trust Octave and the men to do theirs.

Jack’s prisoner stopped.

“What’s the holdup?” he snapped at her.

“You… you s-said,” she stammered, “when we got close to the Stargate annex…”

“Right,” said Jack, in a calmer tone.  “Good.  Where is it?”

She pointed to a door.  “Left through that door, then left again when you reach the big hallway.  Then right at the intersection.  The Stargate annex will be two or three doors down on the left.”

“Daniel,” said Jack, “go check that.”

That was when Lagash’s voice came on again.  “We’re about to attack the Stargate Facility,” he said.  Jack’s guts knotted, but he expressed his confidence in Octave and the men.  Daniel, Sam, and Nara all wished them luck.  Then Jack reminded everyone that, from now on, messages to and from the main group had to be restricted to vital developments, so as not to distract Octave and his men in the middle of combat.

After Lagash signed off, Jack and Daniel exchanged looks.  “The plot thickens,” said Daniel.  “I just hope we don’t run into the Minotaur.”

With those comforting words, Daniel cloaked and went out the door.  A few minutes later, his voice came over Jack’s helmet.  “Okay,” he said, “I’m including Sam and Nara in this broadcast.  I can see nine women in Ashoran Defense Force uniforms and three women in civilian dress gathered outside what has to be the Stargate network annex.  Some of them seem to be working on the door’s electronic controls.  The rest are…”  Daniel’s voice broke off.

_“Daniel?”_

“It’s okay, Jack.  I ducked behind the corner in time.  Some of the women are holding these odd devices, which they keep pointed away from their position, apparently sweeping the hallway in both directions.  I think they’re those anti-cloaking projectors Sam told us about – kind of like the T.E.R’s we used to see the Re’tu.  They project a beam that neutralizes cloaking fields.”

“That’s right,” said Sam.  “It’s a mobile version of the same anti-cloaking devices that are embedded in the walls of the Stargate Facility.”

“Great,” said Jack.  “Well, at least we’re here to save you.”

“Yes,” put in Nara.  “How wonderful.”

Jack put his mouth close to his prisoner’s ear and said, “Thanks for all your help.”  Then he stunned her, and pulled her unconscious body behind some boxes.  After cloaking himself, he went out the door to join Daniel.

But when he exited, he could see people approaching his position from the right, a ways down the long corridor.  There were two women in civilian dress, and five in black military uniforms.  The women were followed by a large machine, which barely fit in the corridor.  The machine drifted along behind them, suspended two feet off the floor on a kind of sled.

“Sam,” said Jack, “you know that blast cannon you were talking about?  Would it be about five feet wide and five feet tall, with three things sticking from the front that look like giant versions of the ‘barrels’ of our Ashoran guns?”

“Yes,” said Sam.  “You mean…”

“Afraid so,” said Jack.  “The big guns have arrived.”


	23. If?

“So,” asked Daniel, his voice quick and confident, “is this where we hijack the blast cannon?”

“ _Yesss,_ ” said Jack.  “I _like_ big guns.”

“But you two can’t operate it!” exclaimed Nara.  “It’s an Ashoran weapon.  It can only be used by women with neural implants.”

“Like you and Sam,” said Jack.

“If we weren’t trapped in this room!”

“We’re here to rescue you,” said Daniel.  “Remember?”

Nara snorted.  “Are they always this cocky?” she asked.

“As far as I know,” said Sam.  Jack could tell she was trying to stick with the spirit of their bantering exchange, but there was an underlying sadness in her voice.  Sam still didn’t have her Earth memories back.  All she had were bits and pieces that came to her in her dreams.  Sam hoped that returning to Earth would trigger the full restoration of her memories, but she knew that might not happen.  According to Lagash, the Erasure Process was supposed to be permanent.

When Sam continued speaking, she had gone into unemotional, science-lecture mode.  “The blast cannon is designed to produce a wave of energy intense enough to punch through force shields and field-reinforced walls.  It’s a very powerful weapon – definitely capable of blasting through the door of this annex.”

_And if it’s so powerful, what will the blast wave do to the people inside?_ thought Jack.  It didn’t take a genius to guess what Sam had left unsaid.  It was _imperative_ that he and Daniel disable the blast cannon.  Or, would it really be possible to steal it?  If they could pull that off, it would probably ensure their escape.

Jack had been analyzing the tactical situation.  He was sure there were more soldiers behind the blast cannon.  Stuck behind it, at the moment, since it blocked the narrow corridor completely.  But that would change once the blast cannon reached the wider hallway that intersected with this corridor.  And something else would change:  the Ashorans would be able to _use_ the blast cannon.  They couldn’t at the moment, because their own people were in the way.  Which suggested the best time to attack might be _now_ , while the blast cannon was still in this corridor.

“Daniel,” he said, “get back over here, so…”  Jack broke off.  He’d been studying the approaching women, who were still quite a distance down the long corridor, and he was getting a bad feeling.

“So?” prodded Daniel.

“Okay,” said Jack, “it’s obvious the women haven’t seen me, even though I’m standing in their line of sight, so it can’t be one of those anti-cloaking things.  But one of the soldiers has this doohickey I’ve never seen before.  It has a disk on the front, and she’s sort of pointing it down the corridor…”

Everybody started shouting at him at once.  He focused on Sam’s voice.  “The anti-cloaking beam has a limited range,” she was saying, “but if they get close enough…”

At that moment, Jack’s surroundings lost that blurry quality that he’d learned to associate with being under cloak.  There was an outcry from the distant party of women, and they started pulling their guns.

“Crap!  I’ve been spotted!”  He quickly shot the woman holding the anti-cloaking device.  As she crumpled and dropped the device, his surroundings got blurry again.

Energy bolts started coming at him.  The women were shooting blind.  Jack tried to go back through the door he’d just exited, but it wouldn’t open.  Apparently, it was only unlocked from the inside.  Quickly switching his gun to disintegration mode, he shot the door.  A circle of sparks expanded briefly across the surface – and then fizzled out.  The door was reinforced!

There was no time to curse his luck.  He just turned and ran for where this corridor intersected the big hallway, trying to weave and crouch while moving as fast as he could.  He’d have no shelter until he could duck around the corner.

Looking back, Jack saw that another soldier had retrieved the fallen anti-cloaking projector, and was sprinting forward with three other women.  Behind them, the two women who remained with the blast cannon were gradually picking up their pace, apparently moving as fast as the hover sled could handle.  Things still looked blurry to Jack, so he was out of range of the anti-cloaking beam again; but that didn’t stop the women from shooting in his direction.

And then he noticed:  some of the energy bolts buzzing past him were white instead of blue.  Some of the women were shooting to kill!  And they were putting too damn many bolts into too narrow a space.  Cloaked or not, he’d never make it to the end of the corridor.

Jack hit the floor and rolled onto his back.  Lifting his upper body as if he were doing a stomach-crunch, he pointed his P90 toward his pursuers and sprayed them with bullets.  The stutter of automatic gunfire was very loud in the confined space.  The bodies of the four women jerked and dropped to the floor.

And then, he instinctively rolled to his right.  Only afterwards did he register a white flash and shock of heat.

His brain went fuzzy, but kept trying to figure out what kind of violent something had just happened.  Jack’s brain had a lot of practice doing that.  For a confused instant, he thought he’d been stunned.  But, no, he’d never been completely out.  Had he?  Then the pain hit.  It came from his left arm, near his shoulder.  “Oww,” said Jack.

He became aware of voices.  One of them said, _He’s alive!_ A familiar voice.  Daniel?

_Jack, get out of there!_ said another voice.  That was Sam.  Jack started trying to get to his feet, but his limbs didn’t seem to be working right.

Someone grabbed him and hauled him upright, and he found himself looking into Daniel’s eyes.  Daniel put his right arm around Jack’s torso, took Jack’s right arm around his shoulders, and began to pull him forward.  Jack’s legs felt wobbly, and his arm hurt.  He looked down and saw a straight, horizontal band of reddened flesh on the outside of his left arm.

“Come on, Jack!  We have to get out of here!”

Daniel was helping him toward his original destination:  the end of the corridor, where it intersected the wide hallway.  Looking back, he saw there were no more women left standing in front of the blast cannon, which was now a lot closer.  It was past the point at which Jack had entered the corridor.  The blast cannon had stopped moving, but was now making a noise.  A low, throbbing hum.  And the tips of the muzzle-things on the front had started to glow.

He recalled his earlier thoughts, about how the Ashorans couldn’t fire the blast cannon in the corridor because their own people were in the way.  Well, that was no longer true.  Jack intensified his efforts to move faster.

“Go on, Daniel,” he said.  “Run for it!  I’ll be right behind you.”  Daniel ignored him.

There was movement up ahead, at the intersection.  An Ashora soldier popped her head around the corner, pointing an anti-cloaking device at them.  The world went non-blurry for an instant.  Daniel shot at her, but she ducked back around the corner.

“It’s some of the Ashorans that were laying siege to the network annex,” said Daniel.  “I saw them entering the big hallway just before I came in here to get you.  They must be planning to capture us when we exit the corridor.”

“No, Daniel,” said Jack, as the humming noise behind them ramped up to a steady thrum.  “They’re just making sure all the meat is on the grill.”

That was when some very different and unexpected noises started coming from behind them.  There were male voices raised in strange shouts and ululating cries, and female voices shrieking in alarm.  Jack looked back, but couldn’t see anything.  The noises were coming from _behind_ the blast cannon.  However, the thrum had abruptly ceased, and the glow in the three muzzle-like projections was fading.

Jack and Daniel exchanged surprised glances.  It was evident that the Collarless men hadn’t stopped following them after all.

The Ashoran woman with the cloaking device stuck her head around the corner again.  No doubt distracted by the strange noises, she left herself exposed for too long.  This time, Daniel’s shot hit her.  Someone immediately pulled her unconscious body back around the corner, but the anti-cloaking device remained on the floor where she’d dropped it.  Daniel quickly switched his gun to disintegration mode and destroyed it.

“Good job.  At least they can’t see us now.”

Arms appeared from both sides of the intersection, pointed guns in their direction, and began pumping energy bolts across the whole width of the corridor.  All the bolts were a lethal white.

“Hit the deck, Daniel!”  Jack was already following his own advice, ignoring the jolt to his injured arm as he dropped to the floor.  He brought his P90 to bear, trying to hit the hands and arms holding the guns.  He got two of them, and a couple of others pulled back.

A door opened in the left wall of the corridor.  Jack swung his P90 toward it, but saw Wegage standing just within the doorway.

“Come in,” said Wegage.  “I know you are here, though your magic hides you.”

Jack and Daniel wasted no time in accepting the invitation.  They launched themselves for the opening, knocking Wegage aside just as the Ashorans increased their firing rate.

Jack decloaked and yelled, “Close the door!”  But Wegage was already doing it.

When Daniel decloaked as well, Wegage beamed at them and said, “Have we not fulfilled our obligation?”

“And then some!” said Jack.

“The obligation is now on our side,” added Daniel, smiling a little.  Another Collarless man – a big, Viking-like redhead – was standing nearby.  At Daniel’s words, he grinned scarily.

“We’ve got to move it,” said Jack.  “Those women will come after us, and that door won’t be locked to them.”

Jack led the Collarless men deeper into the claustrophobic maze of the storage area, ordering Daniel to cloak and watch their six.  Fortunately, this was a good area for ducking and hiding.  They were getting farther away from Sam, Nara, and the blast cannon, but for the moment that couldn’t be helped.

As they moved rapidly through the crooked corridors and cluttered rooms, not heading anywhere in particular except away from the Ashorans, Wegage told Jack how he and the other men had continued to follow Jack and Daniel covertly.  Evidently, Wegage really was an excellent hunter, because Jack hadn’t noticed that they were being stalked.

The Collarless men had eventually exited the storage area through the same door as Jack.  By that time, the blast cannon had moved past the door.  They had attacked the blast cannon’s rear escort, catching the four Ashoran soldiers by surprise and overwhelming them, though three of the men had been shot.

“But they are not dead,” said Wegage.  “They only sleep.”

“You’re lucky the soldiers had their weapons set to stun,” said Jack.

“Ashoran military doctrine is to avoid lethal force when possible, and to never use it so long as the other side doesn’t,” said Sam, her voice coming over the helmet radio.  She and Nara would have been listening in on everything.  “I’ll bet the civilians were the ones shooting to kill.  They’re probably Internal Security.”

“She’s right, Jack,” said Daniel, speaking over the special radio.  “I got to the corridor about when you opened up with the P90, and I noticed it was the civilians who were firing white bolts.  You hit the four women in front, but missed the two by the blast cannon, and one of those was a civilian.  I stunned both of them, but not before the civilian got off a shot a you.  I guess she only grazed you, though.  That must be why you’re still alive.”

“No,” said Sam.  “The reason Jack’s still alive is because he was out-of-phase.  That weakened the effects of the bolt.  Otherwise, even a grazing hit would have killed him.”  She sounded grim.

“Well, they’re all shooting to kill now,” said Jack.

“You did kill four women with your P90,” observed Daniel.

“We killed one also,” said Wegage.  “Swenten broke her neck.”  He indicated the huge redhead.  “The rest, we took prisoner.  Some of my men are watching over them.  They also watch over our sleeping comrades.”

“Where are they, Wegage?”

“I sent them back there,” he said, gesturing toward his left, “while Swenten and I looked for another door to the corridor.”

“Jack,” came Daniel’s voice.  “I just saw an Ashoran soldier.  They’re in here with us.”

“Okay, Wegage,” said Jack.  “I’m going to cloak again, and help Daniel cover your retreat.  You need to go join your companions.”

“We will stay and fight!” protested Swenten.

“Look,” said Jack, “I feel like an idiot giving you this same spiel again, after you proved me so wrong the first time.  But you still don’t have any weapons, and the Ashorans aren’t playing nice anymore.  Daniel and I have to stay anyway.  We came here to rescue our women, and we still need to do that.”

“Maybe not,” said Sam.  “Nara and I just finished with the computer, so we’ve accomplished our mission here.  The weapons emplacements in the ‘Gate Room have been neutralized.  And I’ve been working on altering our guns, too.  I’ve got the guns rigged to blow up.  I think.  Anyway, we’re going to open this door just long enough to toss one at the Ashorans.  That should take them out, and allow us to leave the annex.  We’ll close and lock the door behind us to stop anyone from meddling with our reprogramming too soon.”

“That’s my girl!  Go for it!” said Jack, ignoring the pang of fear that went through him.

The hiss of energy weapons started up behind them.

“Jack!” said Daniel.  “These Ashorans have another anti-cloaking device.  They just spotted me!  I’ll try to hold them off.”

“No more arguments, Wegage,” said Jack.  “There’s no need for you guys to hang around anymore, okay?  Your debt is paid.  Now, you have to let us pay our debt to you.”

The thud of a distant explosion reached them.  Jack hoped that was Sam and Nara escaping from the network annex.

Daniel materialized in the cluttered passageway.  “They’re right behind me!” he yelled.  “Run for it!”  Then he vanished again.

Jack shoved Wegage forward.  “Get out of here!” he barked.  “We’ll cover you.”

The urgency finally seemed to get through to Wegage.  He and the big redhead started moving, and soon disappeared around a corner.

Jack cloaked and positioned himself behind one of the metallic crates that were stacked up along the passageway.  Now that he was out-of-phase, he could see Daniel, who was behind another crate.  They were both facing the T-intersection that Daniel had come from.

There was a flicker of movement at the corner of the intersection.  Jack shot at it.  Soon, he and Daniel were exchanging fire with the Ashorans.  The women were using killing bolts, so Jack set his gun to kill, as well.

“Jack,” came Sam’s voice.  “our plan worked.  The Ashorans that were outside our door are all dead.  We got new guns from them, and rushed down to join you.  We’re in the storage area right now, under cloak.”

Relief rushed through him.  “Great!” he said.

“We could definitely use reinforcements,” added Daniel.

“Don’t worry, honey,” said Nara.  “We’re coming to rescue you.”

More and more energy bolts were coming their way.  Probably all the pursuing Ashorans were now gathered at the left branch of the T-intersection.  The situation was getting hairy, but Jack wanted to make sure the Collarless men got away.

Then Sam’s voice came over his helmet radio.  “We can see the Ashorans.  I’m going to hit them with the other gun-grenade, so get ready to duck.  Three, two, one, _now_.”

Jack covered his head and hunkered down behind the crate.  There was a big explosion.  He could feel a wave of heat and pressure pass over him.

After the debris had settled, everything was quiet.  Jack poked his head around the crate – and there were Sam and Nara, standing at the end of the corridor.  Sam gave him one of her radiant grins, and he could feel himself grinning back like an idiot.

Nara looked more sober.  “We’ve seen several bodies,” she said sadly.  “I don’t think anyone survived.”

Daniel went to Nara and embraced her.  She clung to him, burying her face against his chest.  “I know,” said Daniel.

Jack got out from behind the crate and moved toward Sam.  But before he could close the distance, she flew into his arms and crushed herself against him.  He could really feel her strength.  “Hey,” he said, stroking her hair, “watch the ribs.”

Sam made a little gasping sound, and he felt her body relax.  She looked up at him and smiled, her eyes full of tears.  She didn’t say anything, but he knew what she must have gone through when he was shot.  She must once again have feared him dead.

Jack was filled with wonder that this incredible woman actually cared so much whether he lived or died.  It was a kind of miracle.  And he thought about how often he had risked losing that miracle.  How often they had both risked it, by constantly putting their lives on the line.

Maybe it was time for a change.  Since Sam inexplicably agonized over his safety as much as he did over hers, maybe it was time to ease the fear for at least one of them.  Hadn’t he already paid his dues?  Wouldn’t it be nice to give Sam the kind of safe haven, far removed from the uncertainties of war, that Sara had given him?

Okay, so nobody was ever really safe.  Even a small child within the sanctuary of his own home wasn’t really safe.  But that was why a little security, a reasonable expectation of freedom from violence, was so very precious.  Wasn’t that what he’d been fighting to give people all these years?  Maybe it was time to claim some of that for himself and Sam.

Of course, he could only make the decision for himself.  He didn’t know whether Sam would also abandon the field of war, nor was he certain she should.  Regardless of how greatly it would ease his mind.

Jack bent his head and kissed Sam – a long, tender kiss.  Then he took a step back, gently untangling his arms from hers.

“Okay, kids,” he said, “let’s go get that big gun.”

Sam’s expression hardened.  “Yes,” she said.  “We’d better.  When Nara and I called the assault force to tell them the ‘Gate Room weapons are out of commission, they said the attack on the security foyer isn’t going well.”

Jack called the assault force over his helmet radio and let Octave know that the three of them would be there soon – with a blast cannon.  It wasn’t far to the Stargate, and Sam knew the route.

They rounded up the Collarless men.  Jack wasn’t about to leave them behind again.  After stunning the men’s three Ashoran prisoners and leaving them in the storage area, their group made its way down the empty hallways of Government House.  Jack and Sam were in front, with the blast cannon following Sam like a very large dog.  Behind the big machine came the Collarless men, with the three unconscious ones carried by three of their fellows.  Daniel and Nara brought up the rear.

Lagash met them at a point close to the Stargate Facility, and led them to a lounge-type area that the assault force was using as a fall-back position.  Through a big, square archway could be seen a wide hallway flanked by Minoan pillars.  Sam said the hallway led to the Stargate security foyer; which, in turn, led to the ‘Gate Room itself.

They could hear the hissing of energy weapons coming from the Stargate hallway, but only occasionally.  Octave was still out there with a few men to keep the Stargate guards pinned down, but had ordered most of the men to retreat to this room and wait for the blast cannon.  Their assault on the Stargate security foyer had failed in any case.  Though Octave’s force was about the same size as the contingent left in the foyer, the Stargate guards were in a highly defensible position, and they had been expecting the attack.

Now, the former Arena slaves in the lounge area gathered around Jack, his party, and the blast cannon.  They didn’t say anything.  They just gazed at Jack with desperate hope.

Jack noticed Ifefal over by the wall.  She was tending to a man with a gash on his head.  Laid out on the floor beside her, in a neat row, were the bodies of seventeen men.  Jack went cold when he saw them, but then realized they were breathing.

“Thank God the Stargate guards stuck with non-lethal force,” said Daniel.  “But then, our side did, too.  And it’s not as if the guards are feeling desperate.  They must be expecting reinforcements to arrive at any minute.”

“Yeah,” said Jack, “so am I.”  He looked at Sam and said, “You’re on.”

Sam took a deep breath, and Jack knew she was thinking about the nature of the weapon she commanded.  The blast cannon didn’t have a stun setting.

She stared at the big machine for a second, and it came to life.  It once again began to emit that ominous humming sound.  Sam moved to the large archway, and the blast cannon drifted after her.  With a mental command, she could move the cannon through the archway and point it down the hall.

“Women of the Ashoran Defense Force!” she called out.  “I’m sure you must know by now that some of your colleagues misplaced a blast cannon.  It’s right here beside me, building up a charge.  Imagine what will happen to you if we fire a blast wave into the security foyer.  But it doesn’t have to be that way.  If you lay down your arms and surrender the Stargate, you’ll come to no harm.”  While she spoke, Octave and the few men who remained in the hallway quickly evacuated.

“This is your only chance!” yelled Jack, trying to sound as frighteningly masculine as possible.

But Daniel spoiled it by adding, “We don’t want to hurt you!  We just want to go home!”

The most persuasive voice undoubtedly belonged to the blast cannon.  The Ashoran soldiers would be able to hear that powerful thrum coming from down the hall, getting gradually louder.  It wasn’t long before the Ashoran commander surrendered.

Sam immediately aborted the blast preparation routine.  In the silence that followed, grins broke out among the men.  A few started cheering, but Jack nipped that in the bud by shouting, “Well done!  We’re _almost_ home.”  It was dangerous to celebrate too soon.

He instructed the Stargate guards to come out into the hallway with their hands on top of their heads.  While they were doing that, he ordered Octave to pair up conscious men with unconscious men.  Jack wanted to start moving his people through to the ‘Gate Room as soon as all the Ashorans came out, and since twenty men were unconscious, most of those who weren’t would need to carry one.

“Nara and I programmed some passwords into the Stargate annex computer,” said Sam, “that will allow us to reactivate the doors to the security foyer and ‘Gate Room.  So, we’ll be able to close and lock the doors behind us.  And the Stargate Facility is one of the most heavily reinforced on the planet.  A blast cannon could still break through, but we’ll take ours in there with us.”

“Great,” said Jack.  He felt a flutter of excitement, which he tried to suppress, at how close they were to reaching their final goal.  Earth was just a hundred paces away!

The last of the Ashoran guards filed into the hallway with her hands on her head.  By that time, Octave had the men lined up in a column.  Almost every conscious man had an unconscious comrade slung over his shoulder; only a few remained unburdened.  “Lagash, Nara,” commanded Jack, “take some men and start stunning the Stargate guards.  Daniel, Octave:  you’re with me.  We’re going to scope out the security foyer and ‘Gate Room to make sure they’re clear.  Then we’ll get everyone in there and dial the ‘Gate.  Sam, get ready to take the blast cannon in there, too.”

People began to carry out his orders.  Sam brought the blast cannon into the hallway.  Daniel and Octave were walking toward him.

A blue bolt struck Octave!  Hissing streaks of light were everywhere!  Acting on reflex, Jack drew his gun and hit the floor.  He tried to understand where the bolts were coming from so he could shoot back, but they were coming out of thin air.  Thin air at multiple locations.

“Jack!” yelled Sam.  “They’re cloaked!”  Then she disappeared.  So much for the supposed anti-cloaking properties of the Stargate Facility.

“Everybody run for the ‘Gate!” yelled Jack.  He cloaked and rolled to his feet, looking for the enemy.  But, though he could now see Sam, he still couldn’t see the attackers.  He started shooting anyway, aiming for the spots where bolts originated, while making sure he kept moving.

Jack spotted Daniel approaching a clump of their men.  Judging by his non-blurry appearance, Daniel had also cloaked.

“Daniel!” he yelled.  “Get to the ‘Gate and…”  Jack broke off.  _And dial Earth,_ he’d been about to say.  But there were cloaked, armed Ashorans in here with them.  “…and stand by,” he finished.  “We can’t risk opening the iris yet.”

“I know!” cried Daniel.

Then Jack remembered.  “Octave has the GDO!”

“Where do you think I’m headed?” said Daniel.

There was massive confusion in the hallway.  Men and women shouted and ran around amid the flying energy bolts.  Most of the bolts were blue, but some were a lethal white.

Jack saw that many of his people were heeding his order and heading for the ‘Gate Room as fast as they could, most carrying an unconscious comrade.  But a few were standing there frozen, or shooting wildly.  The Stargate guards were escaping or, in a few cases, attacking his men.  He watched a woman bring down one of the former Arena slaves with a marshal-arts kick.  A number of his people were down, and not all were just stunned.  He saw the Viking-like Collarless man lying on the floor, a wisp of smoke rising from his visibly-charred chest.

Jack shot the kick-boxing Stargate guard.  Then he went back to trying to shoot invisible targets.

“What the hell’s happening, Sam?” yelled Jack.

“I don’t know!” she cried.  “It’s supposed to be impossible to turn off the anti-cloaking field except by turning off every embedded projector individually.  But there must be a secret system-wide switch!”

“Another Internal Security surprise,” said Jack.

Sam was doing the same thing as Jack:  shooting at the origin-points of the weapons fire.  The blast cannon still hovered in her vicinity; but, with the enemy already in among their own people, there was no way she could use it.

“But why can’t I see them, even though I’m cloaked, too?” complained Jack.

“They’re using a different cloaking frequency.  We’re invisible to each other.”

“How droll,” said Jack.  Then he crashed into something and nearly dropped his gun.

It was an invisible person.  He could feel cloth-covered flesh.  Afraid that a stun bolt at this range would knock him out, too, he grappled blindly with the cloaked Ashoran, using his gun as a bludgeon.  He felt her body go limp.  A gun materialized on the floor nearby, evidently fallen from her hand.  After sticking the gun in his belt, he resumed shooting at likely points of thin air.

“Jack!” cried Sam.  “I lost control of the blast cannon!  Somebody had some kind of priority authorization.”

_Any more good news?_ thought Jack.  He saw the blast cannon moving, seemingly by itself.  It was gaining speed as it headed down the hall away from the Stargate foyer.  People jumped to get out of its way.  A few didn’t jump fast enough.

_Well,_ thought Jack, _our attackers can’t use the blast cannon, either.  Not in this melee._

But the melee was thinning out.  The blizzard of energy bolts had almost abated, and of the people visible in the hallway, most were lying motionless on the floor.  Almost the last of his people still on their feet were just entering the security foyer.  One of them was Daniel, with Octave’s body slung over his shoulder.  Sam and Nara were standing near the door, shooting into the hallway.  Then they stopped shooting, and started gaping at something behind him.

Jack turned around and saw that the blast cannon was no longer rushing away down the hall.  It had stopped, and was rotating to face them.

“Jack!” yelled Sam.  “We have to get everybody into the ‘Gate Room _right now_.”  She pointed through the entrance of the Stargate security foyer.  “Not just in the foyer, in the _‘Gate Room_.  Past the _second_ door.”

That by-now-familiar menacing hum started up again.

Jack looked desperately around the hallway.  Who was still out here?  How many of those men on the floor were still breathing?

“We’ve got ninety seconds before the cannon discharges!” cried Sam.  She and Nara and a few of the men had begun checking the bodies on the floor.

_“Help me!”_ shrilled a woman’s voice.  It was Ifefal.  She was coming out from behind a pillar, dragging Lagash’s body behind her.  Lagash was probably three times her weight.

Jack ran to Lagash, slung the big man over his shoulder as fast as he could, and then ran back toward the security foyer, with Ifefal beside him.  The blast cannon was reaching its crescendo:  that deep thrum that seemed to vibrate the whole building.

Jack practically fell through the entrance to the security foyer, staggering under Lagash’s weight.  He and Ifefal seemed to be the last ones in.  A huge door slammed down behind them.

“Don’t stop!” warned Sam.  “Get in the ‘Gate Room!”

So Jack staggered on, through a large white room filled with counters and chairs, and what looked like security archways, and other high-tech gadgetry that he could care less about.  Up ahead was another large opening.  Through it, he could see the Stargate.  And it was filled with watery light!  Daniel must have realized that if the Ashorans were blasting this place, they weren’t likely to be in it.  God, Earth was just a few more steps away!

Jack put on a fresh burst of speed and entered the ‘Gate Room.  As soon as he had, another huge door slammed shut behind him.

There was a stupendous crack, as if lightning had struck right beside him.  Jack fell to his knees as everything shook.  “Oww,” he complained.  Falling on his bad knees while carrying Lagash’s weight was not fun.  He started struggling to get back on his feet.  Ifefal gave him a hand.

“It held,” said Sam.  She was standing beside the door of the ‘Gate Room, studying one of her gizmos.  “The _outer_ door held.  I wasn’t sure it would.  The second blast will bring it down, but that gives us a little more time.  Assuming it takes two blasts to go through this door as well, we’ve got about five minutes.”

Jack took in the crowd gathered around the Stargate.  They were down to around fifty people, half carrying the other half.  That meant they’d lost about ten.  No time to think about that.  All these people needed to get through the Stargate in five minutes.

The pool of light within the Stargate dissipated, leaving an empty grey ring.

“What the hell?”  Jack was so stunned, he didn’t even yell it.

Daniel was standing next to the DHD with a grim expression.  He was holding the GDO in his hand, its arm straps dangling.  His voice tense and rapid, he said, “The GDO is dead.  It must have been damaged when Octave took that stun bolt.  We can’t transmit the iris code, so we can’t go home.  We have to pick another address.”  Daniel looked at Sam.  “Will the Ashorans be able to figure out where we went?”

“Yes.  They’ll read the crystals in the DHD.  And you can be certain they’ll follow.”

Jack’s mind raced.  They needed to go somewhere that could protect them against a bunch of determined Ashorans with highly advanced weapons.  But the Nox had buried their ‘Gate, the Asgard lived in a different galaxy, and the Tollans were no more.  They didn’t know anybody else that was more technologically advanced than the Ashorans.  The Tok’ra were at about the same level, but hadn’t revealed the location of their current base.  And he hated to lead the Ashorans to the Free Jaffa and give Bra’tac a powerful new enemy to worry about.

Looking at Daniel’s face, he knew his friend had reached the same conclusions.  “You know more Stargate addresses than anyone else, Daniel.  Pick one.  _Now._ ”

Jack didn’t even wait for Daniel to begin dialing.  He started working on getting the crowd organized, calling on Nara and Ifefal to help.  They lined people up in front of the now-spinning Stargate, in a column four across.

BOOM!

The second thunderous clap was even louder than the first, and the room shook even worse.  Several people were knocked off their feet, and bits of stuff drifted down from the painted walls.

Sam spoke from her station beside the door, where she was watching the readings on one of her gadgets.  “That definitely blew the outer door.”  She started moving toward the Stargate just as it _whooshed_.

“I better go through first and try to smooth the way,” said Daniel.

Jack scowled at him.  “What the hell did you dial, Daniel?”

While running toward the Stargate, Daniel called back, “If my theory is correct, it’s the best possible place for us to take shelter from the Ashorans.”

“If?” yelled Jack.  But Daniel had already disappeared into the wormhole.

Nara was frowning at the glowing symbols on the DHD.  “I think that’s the address from High Councilor Merena’s secret files.”

No time to wonder what Daniel was getting them into.  They had no choice but to start sending people through.

“Go!” Jack barked at the crowd.  _“Go, go, go!”_

People started passing into the Stargate, four abreast.  To Jack’s relief, they moved in a quick, orderly fashion.

BOOM!

This time, the noise was quite literally deafening, and the room trembled as if caught in the Big One.  Everybody got knocked down, and a wave of heat hit them from the direction of the door.  As people struggled to get back up and re-hoist their unconscious comrades, Jack looked over and saw that the ‘Gate Room door was visibly bowed in.

Above the door was a huge mural of the Goddess wearing Ancient Minoan dress, with an enormous black bull lying at her feet.  The two deities were on a rocky island filled with many animals, encircled by an ocean filled with marine creatures.  The sun and moon where in the sky on either side of the Goddess.  Above her head, the stylized sky morphed into stylized outer space, with planets, stars, and spiral galaxies.  The Goddess’s left hand was wrapped around one of the great bull’s horns, while her right hand was extended, the palm open.  She was smiling.

_Yeah, right,_ thought Jack.  _Goodbye, Ashora.  I won’t miss you._

Sam, Nara, and Ifefal were beside Jack, while Lagash was still slung over his shoulder.  They were the last in line.  Their turn came, and they stepped through the Stargate.

As soon as they stepped out the other side, Jack heard the wormhole dissipate behind them.  Which was good.  But then he froze, because he was facing a huge mural of the Goddess in Ancient Minoan dress, with a black bull at her feet.  She had her hand wrapped around one of his horns, and she was smiling.

For an instant, Jack thought the Stargate had somehow spit them back out onto the same planet.  Then he started noticing the differences.  Below the mural, the door was not closed or bowed in.  It was open.  And gathered in front of it were his people, along with lots of strangers in blue uniforms.  The strange soldiers were of both sexes.  Daniel was talking to a man whose insignia seemed to indicate high rank.

Jack glanced at Sam, Nara, and Ifefal.  They were all gaping in shock.

“Where the hell are we, Daniel?” he snapped.

Daniel broke off his conversation and walked toward them, his face lit with excitement.  “This is Keftu,” he said.  “This is the original home world of the people who founded Ashora.”

“The Founders lied!” cried Sam, her voice full of outraged disbelief.  “The Fall of Keftu…”

“…never happened,” finished Daniel.  “All that happened was that a small group of extremists left Keftu to create their version of the ‘perfect’ society.”

“Oh, Goddess,” said Nara.  “I’ve been so stupid!  I figured out the Founders didn’t leave Keftu in a hurry, so why didn’t it occur to me that maybe Keftu was never attacked by the Goa’uld?  _That_ is the Founders’ Secret!”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Nara,” said Daniel.  “You’re Ashoran.  The Fall of Keftu is so deeply embedded in Ashoran culture that it was easier for you to imagine the Founders had caused it than to imagine it never happened at all.  But I’m sure the possibility would have occurred to you eventually, if the Foundationists hadn’t erased your files.  Naturally, that convinced you your theory had to be right.”

“The Founders _lied!_ ” cried Ifefal.  She sounded just as outraged as Sam had.  Jack realized that was the reaction you could expect from most Ashorans.

“It was quite clever of them, really,” said Daniel.  “They wanted to ensure their new society had no contact with the old.  They knew the people of Keftu would intervene if they found out what kind of society was being created on Ashora.  So, the Founders made up the story of the Fall of Keftu, and taught it to their children.  Nobody would try to contact the old society if they thought it didn’t exist anymore.  The Fall of Keftu was also a perfect founding myth for their extremist colony, since it taught that straying from the true faith would cause a global catastrophe.”

“But _somebody_ knew!” said Jack.  “You got that Stargate address from that High Councilor’s files, right?”

“Yes,” said Daniel.  “Because there was a problem with the Founders’ strategy.  What if some disaster happened, like a Goa’uld attack, and their colony really needed to turn to the home world for help?  The Founders must have picked one or two of their most committed daughters and told them the truth, just in case.  And it’s been passed down that way ever since.  In each generation, a small number of the most fervent Foundationists have been entrusted with the secret.”

The high-ranking stranger had come up beside Daniel.  He looked almost as stunned as the Ashorans.  “I can’t believe it,” he said.  “I can’t believe there’s a Keftuan colony that actually enslaves people.  That’s _appalling_.”  His expression turned stern.  “And unacceptable.  _If_ you’re really telling the truth.”

“You should have proof soon, Commander Geshta.  We expect Ashoran soldiers to follow us here shortly.”  Daniel frowned.  “Unless somebody in Internal Security recognizes that Stargate address, and comes up with some excuse to prevent them.”  Daniel smiled.  “But, in that case, we’ll be happy to give you the address for Ashora.”


	24. Epilogue

The claxons sounded.  “Unscheduled off-world activation,” announced the voice of Sergeant Harriman.

General George Hammond quickly made his way to the Stargate control room.  Through the observation port, he could see the Stargate, covered by the interlocking grey panels of the iris.  Lights danced on the wall behind it, indicating an active wormhole.

“Receiving an IDC, sir,” said Sergeant Harriman.  George’s hopes flared.  But then Sergeant Harriman went on to say, “It’s Master Bra’tac.”

George repressed a sigh.  It had been twenty days since Colonel O’Neill and Dr. Jackson had vanished.  George had sent multiple search and rescue missions to Atrosia to look for them, but very little had been found.

The only real clue had come from Teal’c, who had located a trail.  Teal’c said a party of nine persons with small feet – women, in his opinion – had passed from the Stargate to the point of the attack, and back again.  The trail hadn’t included his teammates’ footprints, but since Dr. Jackson had been struck by a stun charge before Colonel O’Neill ordered Teal’c to flee, and neither man’s body had been found, it could be assumed both were alive.  It was clear they had been carried off through the Stargate by unidentified assailants, but the SGC had no way to guess where in the galaxy to even begin looking for them.

It was painfully reminiscent of how Major Samantha Carter had disappeared more than a year earlier.  And if it was painful for him, how must it feel for Teal’c?  Finding Major Carter had been the reason for visiting Atrosia; but that search, too, had proved fruitless.  So, rather than locating a lost member of SG-1, they had lost two more.

Teal’c was now all that was left of SG-1.  Though he remained as impassive as ever, that had to be very hard for him to bear.  Every time an “unscheduled off-world activation” was announced, you could count on the big Jaffa to show up in the ‘Gate Room shortly thereafter.

“Open the iris,” said George.  He wondered what sort of news Bra’tac had for them.  He doubted it would be good.

The trinium plates scraped open, revealing the shimmering event horizon of the wormhole.  Master Bra’tac stepped out of it.  He wore Jaffa robes and a gleeful expression.

When Jack O’Neill and Daniel Jackson stepped out right behind him, George could feel his face breaking into a huge grin.  Wasn’t he always saying it was a bad bet to underestimate SG-1?

Then, another figure stepped out of the wormhole.

“Sir!” cried Sergeant Harriman.

George felt his grin freeze in astonishment.  “My Lord,” he breathed, and headed for the ‘Gate Room.  Soon, he was standing before all three missing members of SG-1.  There weren’t any words for what he felt, so he finally just said, “Welcome back.”

Jack grinned at him.  “Thank you, sir.  It’s nice to be home.”  Then Jack gave him a quick embrace.  That was surprising, and not really in keeping with military protocol, but in the circumstances George wasn’t about to find fault.

Teal’c arrived in the ‘Gate Room.  As he took in the unexpected arrivals, his usual expressionless mask cracked open, and joy shone out.

Jack beamed at him.  “Hey, big guy!  How’s it hanging?”  Jack gave Teal’c an embrace, too.  Then he clapped the big Jaffa on the arm and said, “Still working out, I see.  Excellent.”

“I am gratified to see you again, O’Neill,” said Teal’c.  He turned his eyes to Daniel.  “And you as well, Daniel Jackson.”

“Same here,” said Daniel, smiling.

Then Teal’c’s gaze fell on Sam Carter.  Her hair was long, and bound up in multiple braids.  Like Jack and Daniel, she was wearing strange clothes.  George reflected that he had quite a debrief coming, especially from Major Carter.

Come to think of it, Major Carter was behaving oddly.  She wasn’t radiating happiness and relief, like Jack and Dr. Jackson.  She was looking around her with an intense, almost puzzled expression.

Now, she turned that expression on Teal’c.  As her cobalt eyes searched the Jaffa’s face, George realized something was wrong.

The other members of SG-1 apparently realized it, too.  Jack’s huge grin faded away.  Dr. Jackson’s brow furrowed.  And the joy in Teal’c’s face clouded over with concern.  “Major Carter,” he said, “I am very glad to see you once again.  I missed you.”

Sam Carter’s expression crumpled.  Tears filled her eyes.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  _“I’m sorry.”_

The mood in the room fell like a stone.  Jack went to Sam and took her in his arms.  The way he held her was _definitely_ not in keeping with military protocol, but George was so worried about Sam’s reactions that he barely paid attention.  Major Carter was sobbing, and it wasn’t like her to weep in such an uncontrolled manner.

“Colonel!” he said, coming toward them.  “What wrong with Major Carter?  Do we need to call Dr. Fraser?”

“Yeah,” said Jack, his voice flat.  “Guess we do.”

Sam Carter took a deep breath and pulled away from Jack’s shoulder, obviously trying to get herself under control.  She looked at George.

And there was no recognition in her eyes.

*****

“How are the negotiations going?” asked Dr. Janet Fraser.

Daniel knew the Keftuan negotiations were not what was really on Janet’s mind.  It wasn’t what was on any of their minds right now.  But Daniel was only too happy to interrupt the restless silence.  When Jack had gotten up and left, brusquely announcing that he was going to find them some coffee, his special brand of fidgety tension seemed to have stayed behind to infect them all.

“They were going quite well,” said Daniel.  “Better than you’d expect, since the Keftuans have little to gain from an alliance with Earth.  Their technology is even more advanced than Ashora’s, because it’s been three-hundred years since the Founders left Keftu, and the Ashorans haven’t had a lot of resources to devote to scientific research.  Keftuan technology is now considerably ahead of the Goa’uld’s, as they proved when the Goa’uld attacked one of their colonies about fifty years ago.  But they’re fascinated with Earth, because it’s the world of their ancestors.  As Jack said, the Keftuans may be just the high-tech ally we’ve been looking for.”

“Are the negotiations no longer going well?” asked Teal’c.

“Let’s just say they’ve hit a snag.  The Keftuans have found out how some of Earth’s societies treat women.  One of their diplomats asked me pointedly how the position of women in some Muslim nations could be distinguished from slavery.  I could only respond that none of those nations know about the Stargate, so they aren’t part of the proposed alliance.”

“Keftu is wonderful,” said Lagash.  “They worship the Goddess here, too, but everything is very different.  They don’t look down on males.  They believe that men and women are equal.”  He and Ifefal smiled at one another.  They had settled on Keftu, and seemed very happy.  Their wedding was in two weeks.

“We’ve found a wonderful Keftuan priestess,” added Ifefal.  “She’s the one who’s going to marry us.  And she’s been instructing us in the _true_ faith of the Goddess.  She says the Book of Ashora is all garbled.”

“All that stuff about women ruling over men doesn’t apply anymore,” said Lagash.  “It was like that a long, long time ago, but that doesn’t mean the Goddess doesn’t love her Sons just as much as her Daughters.”

“Actually,” said Daniel, “many Keftuans believe that true matriarchy never existed, even in the distant past.  They say that’s just a legend.  And I think they’re right.  It’s clear that women had a lot of prestige among the Ancient Minoans, especially in religious matters.  And Minoan family structure was matrilineal, of course.  But that’s not the same thing as women ruling over men.  The evidence suggests that in Minoan society, both men and women enjoyed a degree of individual freedom and dignity that was quite unusual for the ancient world.  And Keftuan society fully reflects that.  These people are the Ancient Minoans’ true heirs.

“The Founders of Ashora, on the other hand, were just a tiny, extremist cult.  They barely register in the Keftuan history books, and might not be remembered at all if it weren’t for the mystery of their disappearance from Keftu.  Ashora was their misguided attempt to recreate the legendary matriarchal Golden Age.”

“Well,” said Nara, “now that Keftu and Ashora know about each other, the whole misbegotten Ashoran experiment won’t go on much longer.  The Keftuans are putting a lot of pressure on the Ashoran Government to get rid of all the Collars, both Golden and Black.”  Nara frowned.  “Though some Sons of Ashora are insisting they don’t _want_ their Collars removed.  Including my brother!”

“Such profound social change can’t happen overnight,” said Daniel, “but I think it’s going to happen quite rapidly.  Finding out that the Founders lied has sent huge shock waves through Ashoran society.  The Foundationists have lost all credibility.  They’ve already been voted out, and a Charitist Government voted in.”

Nara shifted position on the couch beside Daniel, putting her arm through his and snuggling closer.  Nara was wearing Keftuan clothes, and Keftuan fashion was similar to Ashoran.  Since Daniel was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, he got to enjoy the sensation of her bare breasts against his arm.

Just one more reason for Nara and himself to settle down on this world.  Keftu was a gender-equal society, so living here would fulfill Nara’s desire to get away from her matriarchal Ashoran upbringing just as much as living on Earth.  But Keftuan culture felt much more familiar to her – and it was a technological step up rather than a huge step down, too.  As for Daniel, he found Keftuan culture both fascinating and very appealing.  And just because he lived on Keftu didn’t mean he couldn’t continue to work for the SGC.  The Stargate made interstellar commuting a snap.

Nara had asked Daniel to marry her, and he’d said yes, of course.  She wanted a traditional Keftuan ceremony, which was similar to the Ashoran version except that it did not imply the bride was superior to the groom.  Daniel thought a Keftuan ceremony would be cool.

He looked down into his fiancée’s passionate green eyes, and she smiled up at him.  She’d told him that having a Collarless man for a lover was a lot easier to get used to than she’d expected.  He was still trying to get used to the wonder, the incredible blessing, of having found love for a second time.

“I’ve heard there’s talk of giving you a role as a permanent liaison between Earth and Keftu.  Providing the negotiations succeed, of course,” said Janet.

“I’ve heard that, too,” said Daniel.  “And I wouldn’t be averse.  But don’t imagine that means you’ll be rid of me.”  Daniel shifted his gaze from Janet to Teal’c, and let it stay there.

Teal’c gave one of his strangely sweet little smiles and nodded slightly toward Daniel, acknowledging his intent.  “Nor should you expect to be rid of me, Daniel Jackson.  Even though SG-1 as we knew it no longer exists.”

As usual, Teal’c had cut straight to the chase.  Though the members of SG-1 had been reunited, nothing was the same.  Daniel had Nara and the Keftuan mission.  Jack had retired from the Air Force.  And Sam’s memories were still buried.

They had all hoped that continuing to expose Sam to the people and environments of her past would eventually bring her memories to the surface.  But even seeing her father again hadn’t done the trick.  Jacob had been thrilled to get his daughter back, memory or no memory, but Sam had been devastated at not being able to remember her own father.

They’d tried hypnotherapy, but that had only triggered a few more “memory dreams,” as Sam called them.  Her past remained inaccessible to her conscious mind.  And Janet frankly declared herself out of her depth.  Sam’s condition was way beyond the competence of Earth medicine.

That was what had brought them all here, to the visitor’s lounge of a highly regarded neurological clinic on Keftu.

“I’m surprised Jack’s not back yet,” said Daniel.

“I’m glad the Colonel’s not back yet,” said Janet.  “Last time he asked the receptionist how much longer it would be, she said at least forty minutes, and that was twenty minutes ago.  Maybe he’s taking her at her word for once, and using the time to walk off some of that nervous energy.”

Daniel leaned toward Janet in a conspiratorial manner and said, “What do you think of the new Jack O’Neill?”

“There’s a _new_ Jack O’Neill?” said Janet. “I must have missed the memo.”

“Well, not _that_ new.  Don’t get me wrong, Jack is still Jack.  Especially today.  But don’t you think he’s more…” Daniel’s face scrunched up, and his hands churned slowly.  “I don’t know.  Reachable?”

Janet’s lips quirked.  “Actually, yes.  I know exactly what you mean.  Considering his experiences on Ashora, I recommended that the Colonel be given at least a month’s medical leave, and be required to undergo psychotherapy.  General Hammond agreed.  But then Jack retired, which put him beyond the reach of Air Force discipline.  And I thought, so much for that.  One more unresolved trauma for Jack to lug around for the rest of his life.  So when he came to me, and asked me to recommend a therapist who ‘won’t waste my time,’ as he put it, I nearly fainted.”

“O’Neill has not truly changed,” said Teal’c, “except to become more completely O’Neill.”

_God, the man is so deep,_ thought Daniel.  “You’re right, Teal’c.  That’s it exactly.”

“My ears are burning,” said a familiar voice.  Jack had re-entered the visitors lounge, carrying a tray loaded with cups.  “Sorry, guys.  They don’t have any coffee.  They don’t even know what coffee is.  All they have is this orange stuff.”  He gave the cups a dubious look, but set the tray down on a low table in the center of the group.  Then he retook his seat between Daniel and Teal’c.

Ifefal, Lagash, Nara, and Daniel all reached eagerly for a cup of _zifwa_.  Janet took one, sniffed at it, and sipped cautiously.  Jack and Teal’c abstained.

Three minutes after having sat down, Jack popped back up and directed his gaze toward the long-suffering Keftuan receptionist.  “Jack,” said Daniel, “the minute the doctors give her any news, I’m sure she’ll announce it.  She’s already told you that a dozen times.”  Jack gave him a resentful glance, but plopped into his seat again.  He propped his chin in one hand and stared into the middle distance, while his other hand tapped a restless rhythm on the opposite arm of the chair.

Everyone sat and waited in glum silence along with him.  It was awful to think that Sam might never regain the missing forty-odd years of her life.  After all, if Sam couldn't remember the greater part of her life, was she really still the same person?  Daniel knew that Sam asked herself that question.  She’d been struggling with uncertainty about her identity for a year, ever since waking up as an amnesiac in an Ashoran hospital.  It really sucked that even now, after having made it back home to Earth against all odds, her struggle still wasn’t over.

Without her memories, Sam’s identity remained incomplete.  And her life remained on hold.  The Air Force had her on indefinite medical leave.  And, though General Hammond and the staff of the SGC were one-hundred percent supportive, there seemed to be some in the Government who now questioned her loyalty.  The professional paranoiacs in the NID apparently reasoned that if Major Samantha Carter couldn’t remember being an Air Force officer, or an American, or even an Earth woman, she couldn’t be depended upon to feel any obligation to those groups.  The fact that Sam had gained a great deal of advanced scientific knowledge on Ashora only made them more schizoid.  On the one hand, they drooled over the possible advantages for Earth; on the other, they seemed to feel it made Sam a greater security risk.  They really were insane.

Then there was the issue of her relationship with Jack.  Though Sam and Jack had, in effect, become engaged on Ashora, they hadn’t made any plans for their wedding.  Nor had they decided much else about the shape of their future life together – at Jack's insistence.  Jack said it wasn’t right for Sam to make those decisions now, since she might make them differently when she had all her memories to draw upon.  So Jack’s life was on hold, too.

Jack had confided to Daniel that he worried how the return of Sam’s memories might affect their relationship.  It was Jamora/Sam who was his lover; Major Samantha Carter had been his strictly-regulation military subordinate.  Daniel kept telling him their relationship would surely only change for the better, but Jack remained anxious.

Despite that, it was Jack who had suggested that Sam seek treatment at this clinic.  He’d been extremely impressed by what they’d done for the man formerly know as “Squealer.”  The brain-damaged man was now functioning at an almost-normal level.  And since Keftuan science was basically a more advanced version of Ashoran science, the Keftuans might be just the right people to reverse what the Ashorans had done to Sam.

“Jack O’Neill?”

Jack sprang to his feet.  The Keftuan receptionist gave him a sympathetic look.  Clearly, she didn’t hold his pestering against him.  “The doctors are ready for you,” she said.

Everyone started to get up, but the receptionist said, “I’m sorry, it’s just Mr. O’Neill for now.  Mr. O’Neill:  follow me, please.”

*****

As Jack trailed the medical receptionist down a hallway, he tried to get his heartbeat under control.  What had happened to his ability to wait calmly when necessary, even in the worst of circumstances?  That was just one of the mental disciplines that had deserted him lately.  He also seemed to have lost the knack for completely suppressing his emotions.  His therapist claimed that was a good thing; but, so far, he didn’t see it.

Jack asked the Keftuan receptionist how the procedure had gone, but she said he would have to speak to Sam’s doctors about that.  Apparently, that annoying rule was enforced at hospitals all over the universe.

Thoughts and feelings thrashed around inside Jack’s head.  He desperately wanted Sam to regain her memories.  He knew how much it hurt her that she couldn’t remember.  But how would she react when she recovered everything she knew about _him?_ Major Sam Carter had understood things about him that Jamora/Sam didn’t.  On their missions together, she had seen him make mistakes and bad decisions that jeopardized them all.  And she knew how ruthless he could be.  She knew he had even been willing to kill _her_.  Sure, Major Carter had accepted him anyway – but only as a commanding officer, not as a husband.  Back in the old days, he had always wondered if regulations were really all that kept them apart.

The receptionist led him into a small, bare room.  One wall was transparent, and on the other side he could see Sam.  But it was apparently a one-way transparency, because Sam was unaware of their presence.  She was lying on a bed, wearing a loose shift.  Around her were a number of strange machines with incomprehensible displays.  Another doctor was in the room with her, using a small device to touch various points on Sam’s arms and legs.  He was asking her to describe whether the device felt hot or cold.  Sam answered listlessly.

Jack’s throat closed up at the sadness in Sam’s voice.  “It didn’t work, did it?” he said.

“That remains to be seen,” said one of Sam’s doctors.  She was a very short woman, and she reminded him of Dr. Fraser in other ways, too.  “We’ve never had a case quite like this before.  There was a chance that memory retrieval would occur spontaneously, as soon as the patient regained consciousness.  That hasn’t happened.  So, the process may require a triggering stimulus, which is where you come in.  Your face has very strong emotional resonances for the patient, both within her current, conscious memories and within her buried, unconscious memories.  We feel you might be just the stimulus needed to awaken those sleeping memories.”

“I don’t know,” said Jack.  “I’m no Prince Charming.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand that reference,” said the other doctor, who was a real stick-in-the-mud.  “All we require is that you step into the room and present yourself to the patient.  Are you willing to do that?”

“Of course.”

The doctor who was in with Sam finished with the device, and told Sam he was going to leave her alone for just a moment.  Then he entered the small observation room through a side door.  “Sam is ready for you,” he told Jack.

_Or so I hope_.  Trying not to think about how much was riding on this, Jack walked purposefully through the side door, and into Sam’s presence.

When Sam saw him, she froze.  Her body went completely still, and her great eyes turned glassy.  Jack watched her worriedly.  He wanted to ask if she was all right, but was afraid to interrupt whatever might be happening inside her brain.

Sam sat up abruptly, and let out a strange wail.

“Sam!” he cried.  He rushed to her, putting his hands on her arms.

Sam began to cry.  The Keftuan doctors came back in, checking the readings on the instruments around Sam’s bed.  Jack blinked tears from his own eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She looked at him, and took his face between her hands.  “No!”  She shook her head.  “No, you don’t understand!  I _remember_.  Everything!”

“That bad, huh?” said Jack.

Sam started giggling through her tears.  “Oh, God, Jack.  Oh, God.  There’s just so much!  I was missing _so much!_ ”

She took a deep breath.  Then she scooted closer to him, to the edge of the bed, and wrapped her arms tightly around him, so that her breasts were pressed against him.  And not only that.  She put one leg on either side of his body and wrapped her legs around him, too.  She was pressing her groin against his.  And the short shift she was wearing didn’t present much of a barrier.

“Then again,” she said, “there’s so much I’ve gained, too.  It’s wonderful having my old memories back.  But there’s no way in hell I could go back to my old life.”

The stick-in-the-mud Keftuan doctor started trying to ask questions, but Jack didn’t really hear them.  He was too lost in the feel of Sam’s body against his, and in the love shining from her eyes.

 

THE END


End file.
